


Comrades and Lovers

by glinda4thegood



Series: Comrades & Lovers Universe [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Klingons, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glinda4thegood/pseuds/glinda4thegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A former Star Fleet ensign, semi-organic starship, Tribble Smugglers, and Klingons meet up on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. A search for Cyrano Jones turns to a romantic encounter that starts a chain reaction of events affecting the destiny of humans and Klingons involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encyclopedia Galactica

**Author's Note:**

> _Comrades and Lovers_ is the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote, started on lined notebook paper, handwritten, in 1971.
> 
> Since that time, STOS was eventually followed by four other television series based in the ST universe, cartoons, comics, novels, films . . . and many of the premises of my original story were outdated or expanded in a way I could never have imagined.
> 
> I started writing about sex before I had sex, before I'd had my first kiss or date. Way to go, young me! I transferred the story in its present form, with much editing, after many years of marriage and child rearing. Way to go, older me! _Comrades_ is howling space opera, naive, romantic, and gives me the greatest sense of satisfaction of anything I've written.
> 
> This universe is STOS AU after _The Trouble With Tribbles._ Klingon culture is probably AU, since it is based on STOS. Klingon language has been nipped from the KLI and other places, and also created back in 1971. Notes about Klingon rank will appear at the end of the series. _Comrades_ has three parts: _Comrades and Lovers_ , _Comrades: After Wrigley's_ , and _Comrades: Reunion_.

**ENTRY IN THE ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA**

 **Llant Gornu,** (2244/45?) one of three juveniles to survive an unknown plague that terminated an early attempt to colonize Caitliff.

 _(See: terraforming, Class L planets)._

Little information exists about the colonists. Several had scientific backgrounds in planetary modification and genetic research.

 _(See: Dr. Elles Racozny, Dr. Mora Liu, Dr. David Phillips)._

In 2254 a Federation science vessel responded to a distress beacon from Caitliff. By the time the crew investigated the two habitat domes, they found all colony records had been destroyed except for a short description of a mutated virus. This information included the notation that all dead colonists had been vaporized using phaser energy, and included a list of the thirty five deceased, all human. Two bodies remained, self-sealed in one of the dome control rooms. These were destroyed without examination. Three juvenile humans were found alive, and healthy (one female, two males). No remaining trace of the virus could be found by the Federation scientists.

Without records, it was determined by bioscan that the juveniles were between 10 and 12 years of age (Gornu's age was set at 10). After questioning, it was also determined the colony had chosen to raise young communally, so the juveniles did not know which of the colonists were their genetic parents.

With no record of existing relations, all three juveniles were transferred to a care facility on Denev. When educational evaluations showed Gornu to have higher than above average mental potential, she was taken to a Federation prep school on Gateway IV. Between the ages of 11 and 14 the Federation has a patchwork record of mental and physical evaluations, psychological interventions, and self-initiated absences from the care facility that lasted for months before officials were able to find and retrieve her. Gornu's ability to evade or disable social protection/detection networks resulted in several universal upgrades to Federation security systems. It is believed that during these unsupervised stretches of time, Gornu became acquainted with individuals that would play a significant part in her adult life.

 _(See: Vandorii, Gloven'i'al'ven, shapeshifters, Petra Akanos, Saar Syndicate, pseudonyms = "Gem" Gornu, Arcanii raiders, White Death, whitemail)._

At the age of 15, Gornu was again transferred, this time to Star Fleet Academy on earth. While no official record shows she was anything other than a stellar student, there are many popular cadet legends about marginally legal pursuits during Gornu's time at Academy.

 _(See: category, popular fiction,_ Last Call at Montego Bay _SFGatepubs ©2263)._

Gornu became captain of the fencing team in her freshman year, and the Academy won every league match until she graduated.

 _(See: category Star Fleet Academy athletic awards: Randolpha Wolfe, Le'Ling Jones, Morgan N'Cala-shi)._

Evaluations and observation showed Gornu had a startling, chameleon-like ability to absorb and integrate into other cultures. She was frequently asked to assist the Academy psych department when it became necessary to understand and defuse difficult situations with non-human students. Up until her graduation from Academy, records indicate a debate between her advisors and Federation officials as to whether Gornu would be better suited to the Diplomatic Corps, or a training starship. At graduation Gornu had competed the requirements for a triple major in Exoarchaeology, Advanced Theoretical Physics, and Exobiology. She had also completed master's theses for two of these majors. Her theories on the Vandoriian diaspora and recovery of artifacts is still considered to be the definitive work on the subject.

 _(See: Alignment of the Vandoriian Diaspora with distribution of Ancient Artifacts, Llant'Gornu, 2264)_

One day after official graduation ceremonies, holding the rank of Ensign, but as yet no assignment, Gornu and several other Academy personnel were present at a social event aboard a starship belonging to Lagos Antry.

 _(See: category, popular fiction:_ The Night the Smuggler Took the Pirate _, Harlequin Pubs©2268; Wherever colony, Wherever pirates; Lagos Antry, Veriand Antry; Le'Ling Jones; Morgan N'Cala-shi)._

Antry had come to Earth to answer Federation questions about his business dealings in fringe space, and also to question Fleet scientists about an unusual salvage find. Having met Gornu at the Academy science labs, Antry eventually proposed a long-term companionship arrangement that Gornu declined.

During the social event _(See: Lagos poker party)_ , Antry took Gornu for a look at his salvaged item, which he had towed to Earth. Described in the Lira Secundus salvage registry, the object was an "irregularly shaped object composed of artificial, but unknown, alloy material, approximately --- meters in diameter, with partially hollow interior containing mixture of oxygen and trace gases. Scans show what appear to be unknown mechanical components throughout, encased in alloy. Conjectured use: alien habitoid that may have been self-propelled."

What was not recorded at the time, but later confirmed by investigation, was the fact three of Antry's crewmembers had been found dead inside the habitoid, at different times, from cerebral aneurysms. Later conversations with Antry revealed he had experienced an inexplicable sense of disturbance during his first explorations of the habitoid. Gornu also sensed something during her visit. Returning to Antry's ship, the party culminated in, among other things, a single hand of poker between Antry and Gornu. The stakes were a five year companionship contract on Gornu's side, the habitoid on Antry's side. Gornu won the hand.

 _(See: recall of Liran Ambassador, 2264; hijacking of, and unauthorized broadcast, Public VidChannel 2264; civil suit, Liran Embassy vs. Morgan N'Cala-shi 2264)._

Fallout from the social event resulted in Llant'Gornu, Le'Ling Jones, and Morgan N'Cala-shi's immediate suspension, and eventual removal, from Federation service.

While no official record exists of Gornu's actions following her expulsion, a piecework account is possible from various informal sources. Equipped with an enviro-tent, Gornu persuaded someone to transport her to what we now know was not a habitoid, but a hibernating H'russ juvenile. During her stay, the H'russ "woke up" and successfully interfaced with Gornu.

 _(See: category, non-human history: H'russ; semi-sentient organic life forms; early Borg genocide; inter-species mutual symbiosis)._

Since there was no first hand observation of the process that changed the H'russ from an unformed rock to a starship, and as no other H'russ has yet been encountered, speculation about the process must be based on how later crewmembers observed the H'russ react and change to meet external threat, and environmental need. Most analysts agree Morgan N'Cala-shi was responsible for providing the H'russ with an opportunity to download the entirety of Star Fleet's earthside records. When Llant'Gornu eventually arrived at Vulcan and registered ownership of the Takka'aq Dorg as transferred salvage from Lagos Antry, the Star of Hope looked more like a Royce-Arnage Starcruiser yacht than a rock.

 _(See: dead languages, Artifacts, the Ancients, the Institute for Ancient Artifact Cataloguing and Study)._

Gornu's second stated purpose for Vulcan as a destination was to immerse herself in Vulcan culture, and strengthen her mental discipline and emotional control. To the surprise of both the Fleet, and many Vulcans, she was given permission to live on Vulcan during a time when human interaction with Vulcan's general population was strictly controlled. During her studies she began to recruit and add crewmembers to the Star.

 _(See: Morgan N'Cala-shi, Dr. Carey Piers, Sheila Minerva Scott, Kern Kalliste, Gloven'i'al'ven, Malo Allalu)._

Gornu's relationship (widely understood to be sexual) with one of her mentors, Starr of Vulcan, was discontinued when Vulcan scientists realized the potential importance, and essential nature of the H'russ ship. The sharing of this knowledge with other scientists, including Star Fleet personnel, brought Gornu immediately into the center of demands for a wider scientific investigation of the H'russ. Gornu declined all offers and demands, and left Vulcan -- which had also, unknowingly, contributed the totality of Vulcan's historical and contemporary data bases to the H'russ. (This was to become only the second legendary act of such "piracy," and became standard operating procedure for the Star.)

 _(See: Ambassador Starr of Vulcan, 2266)_

Relocating the Star rapidly to fringe space to minimize exposure to the Fleet, Gornu unexpectedly intercepted a communication between the Fleet and an unofficial colony on Caliban. Co-settled by humans and lindtherians, Caliban had suddenly become interesting to Klingons because of mineral reserves in its mountain ranges. While the nearest colonies were non-Klingon, Caliban was in "no man's land," unclaimed by the Federation or the Klingons. Gornu recognized the name of the lindtherian governor, and some of the humans, from her time at Academy. When the Fleet declined to intervene in the dispute, Gornu took the Star to Caliban.

The Caliban incident provides the first instance of the Star's offensive potential. The ship was utilizing some kind of cloaking technology as it approached Caliban, and the Klingon warbird that orbited the planet. The brief encounter after the Star decloaked resulted in the immediate destruction of the warbird. Interviews with surviving human colonists later confirmed that the Klingons had poisoned Caliban's lowlands to exterminate the lindtherians. Most humans were kept alive to use as forced labor. Gornu transported to Caliban by herself, and after freeing the remaining human prisoners, organized a guerilla action that resulted in the death of every one of the 70+ warriors remaining on Caliban's surface.

After the Star transported the remaining colonists to a Federation outpost, Gornu took her ship into Klingon space. When she found another warbird, she transmitted video records from Caliban, and told the captain to relay her promise to his superiors: any further Klingon encroachment on fringe space, or aggression against colonies, would result in the loss of more warbirds and personnel.

The Klingon Council raged at the Federation in a series of historically interesting communiques. The Federation responded that Gornu was an independent citizen, they had no jurisdiction over her actions, and suggested the Klingons keep the hell away from her. The Council responded by naming Gornu _sheld'kaj_. Other volatile political situations at the time diverted attention from Gornu and the Star, but there was no warrior in the Klingon Empire that didn't know who, and what, Gornu and the Star represented.

 _(See: Klingon translation, _sheld'kaj_ = informal Eng. = campaign trophy, war criminal)._

Although the Federation was eager to urge others to leave Gornu alone, their intent to study or acquire the H'russ continued for many years. Everything from taxation to outright abuse of eminent domain was attempted. The Star's reputation for marginally legal trade and other activities grew during this period, as Gornu and the Star's crew worked fringe space, transporting colonists and reselling goods. Additional crew was added to the Star during this time.

 _(See: Randolpha Wolfe, Ludmila Poparov, T'Prenda, Isscia Takworthy, Gwen Davies)._

In 2266, Gornu signed a contract to work with her former classmate, Le'Ling Jones, as security and overflow transport for the Jones Corp. ship, the Tribblion.

 _(See: trader class starship Marchioness aka Tribblion, Jones Family Limited, Jones Corporation, Le'Ling Jones, Cyrano Jones)._

The partnership was profitable. When Le'Ling's paternal uncle, Cyrano Jones, disappeared following an incident involving the Federation, Klingons, and stolen merchandise, the Tribblion and Star began what was widely viewed as a futile rescue effort.

 _(See: Sherman's planet, Deep Space Station K-7, Koloth, Korax, Arne Darvin, James T. Kirk, tribbles, quadrotriticale, USS Enterprise, IKS Gr'oth, Kor, IKS Shaitan's Arm, Wrigley's Pleasure Planet)._

Kirk's report to the Federation following the incident at Space Station K-7 was brief.

 _(See: media headlines, 2268_ James T. Kirk discovers Klingon terrorist on Deep Space Station K-7 _)._

Kirk's report following the incident at Wrigley's was briefer, and covered none of the most interesting events. Cyrano Jones was still missing. Klingon warbirds Gr'oth and Shaitan's Arm had withdrawn to Klingon space. The Tribblion was now registered as a Rajan vessel, in fringe space near Klingon space. The Star had disappeared, after a massive data upload at Libra Secundus.

 _(See: Libra Secundus library and research facility)_

Later developments make for interesting speculation, but there is a period of time where no official records exist.

Koloth and Le'Ling were married by Klingon ceremony sometime after the date on Kirk's report.

Gornu opened accounts with Bancom, Wherever, and Saar Syndicate's Swiss depository on earth with the proceeds from the Star's activities. She purchased real estate on Wherever, which provided her with a useful, alternative claim of citizenship. In chronological order she also added a notorious Klingon Shahar assassin to her crew, conducted a Federation/Tellis initiated investigation/personnel rescue on Xanadu planetoid that resulted in the Federation losing their chance at acquiring Xanadu after the Trader population departed.

 _(See: Trader race, Xanadu, White Death, Veriand Antry, Kion, Lt. Commander Daryl Nordstromm, slavers, Harruqq n'Flzz)._

Following this action, Gornu added the Klingon Shahan, Kion to her crew.

 _(See: Klingon translation/definitions -_ Shahar, Shahan, Dahar, Grahar _= informal Eng. = Assassin, Intelligence operative with varying degrees of empathic/telepathic ability, Warrior of legendary exploits, Scientist)._

Gornu competed in the Olympic games on Tabor in 2274, in batleth fighting. She defeated all her opponents, through K'enda of Quonos, but lost the final fight to Glain of Quonos.

 _(See: sport gaming odds/payout on Tabor Olympics batleth fights, Gornu vs. K'enda)_

Federation security analysis of the games, of the Shahar scar Gornu now bore on her shoulder, is the first recorded instance of scientific speculation that Caitliff Colony, and Llant'Gornu, were somehow connected with Augments. It was noted that Dr. E. Racozny, one of the colony founders, had published several papers on historical analysis of Augment/human conflict. The speculation was never confirmed, and re-analysis of Gornu's juvenile test results seemed to confirm she was an exceptional human specimen, but nothing more. (It is worth noting there were Fleet scientists who questioned the accuracy of her early records.) Attempts to find Caitliff's two surviving male juveniles met with a dead end. Both had died in the great planetquake on Denev, 2258.

Eventually the existence of Star Colony came to the Federation's attention. To this day, the Federation's data entry screen for Star Colony contains a prominent "LEAVE THEM THE HELL ALONE" preliminary notation.

 _(See . . . .)_

 **Addendum:** The entry for **Llant'Gornu** in the egregious knock-off of the Encyclopedia Galactica, _The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy_ notes "Not to contradict ourselves, but for Federation and Klingon starships encountering the Star of Hope and Llant'Gornu, it is both permissible and advisable to panic."


	2. Chapter 2

**WRIGLEY’S PLEASURE PLANET**

CAPTAIN’S LOG: The Star joins the Tribblion, Enterprise and warbird Gr'oth in orbit around Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. My orders are to keep watch aboard the Star while Le’Ling and crew enjoy shore leave.

 _Confidential note to Star: Le'Ling is insane, and I’m beginning to reevaluate our contract. The Feds are untrustworthy under any circumstance, and Klingons are rapacious opportunists. I cannot fathom Le’Ling’s insistence on this deviation from mission. The disturbing security reports I was able to extract from the Tribblion concerning prior knowledge of the position of the Gr'oth have only increased my unease._

So we honor our contract, and keep watch. End log.

 _GORNU: INTRUDERS_

Llant’Gornu’s fingers curled into the substance of the H’russ armrest, flexing and digging in frustration. Le’Ling’s response to her recent criticisms had been to remove her from the center of activity.

 _Solo. We can go solo anytime. I’d like to see something new._

The faint communication from Star teased at Llant’s mind. She dug her fingers deeper into the com chair and established a stronger link.

 _Fringe space, Star? We’ve been hanging around established trade routes for too long._

 _Her ship is a piece of machinery, and you doubt her shrewdness and judgment. Time to go, Gem. Your friendship brought us into this collaboration; if we remain, will you be able to salvage this friendship?_

Since most of Star's understanding of human relationships and motivations came from the mental intimacy between them, Llant knew her ship’s analysis of the situation came mostly from her own mind and heart. It was time for to break the partnership with Le’Ling, head out toward developing fringes of Federation space looking for trade opportunities.

Llant eyed the viewscreen images of the Enterprise and Tribblion. A moment later, the Gr'oth appeared from behind the dark green sphere of the most notorious shore leave planet in the quadrant, and all three ships were arrayed in clear view, like practice targets in a war game.

It would be so easy to blow that piece of junk into space dust. So easy to release the hostility she had felt since the Klingon warbird first announced its presence, demanding safe accommodation under Federation treaty and law.

“What’s going on down there?”

Takworthy sat at the communication console, a sleepy smile on her face as she listened to her headset, normally bright brown eyes half-closed.

“A party, sir?” Tak opened her eyes wide and the smile ebbed from her lips. She pushed her fingers through short, fly-away brown hair, leaving it standing in feathery spikes around her forehead. “Party or orgy. That’s what shore leave planets exist for. But the Feds are usually more closet about how they cut loose.”

“Chatter from the Enterprise?” Llant grimaced at the silhouette of Kirk’s ship. “Kirk has never been closet anything in his life.”

“And Le’Ling is the model of propriety?” Randolpha Wolfe sat at the science station, her hand buried to the wrist in H'russ interface. “Are we looking for something specific, or is it just Koloth’s presence making you crazy?”

They knew her too damn well, this ship, these women who had become both crew and family in such a short time. All extraordinary, all perceptive and talented, Wolfe had a long-range vision and intuitive grasp of cause and effect that Llant had come to rely on as much as she relied on Star.

“Klingons. Kirk.” The alliteration tasted hard and bad. “My gut says Le’Ling hasn’t told me everything. When we located the Gr'oth the first time, Koloth claimed he couldn’t tell us what happened to Jones.”

“Apart from the fact he’s Klingon, why shouldn’t we believe that? Le’Ling seemed to accept his statement.” Wolfe’s black eyes stared past her captain at the viewscreen.

“K-7 logs. Koloth claims he was shoveling tribbles off his ship when Jones disappeared. Whoever took Cyrano Jones off K-7 fried the exterior sensors and disabled the station’s shield before they took him. Who would want a pestilent tribble smuggler that badly? Who would have the capability _and_ desire for revenge, at that time and place?”

“Koloth.” Wolfe’s long, slender fingers pulled at the gold stud in her ear. “You think Le’Ling set up this rendezvous for another interview with Koloth?”

“Pretty bizarre coincidence,” Allallu offered, from her navigation seat.

“The only coincidence here is the presence of the Enterprise.” Llant felt confident of the truth of her statement. “I have a report from Poppy that puts Koloth and Le’Ling together on Wrigley’s, shortly after we arrived. What have you heard from the coms, Tak?”

“The Enterprise crew likes Wrigley's a lot, the transporters are humming. A couple of face-offs occurred between Enterprise and Gr'oth personnel, nothing major. The Tribblion crew seems to be _very_ popular with the Feds,” Takworthy said with exaggerated innocence.

“How many of each crew are below?”

A swift alteration in color on Star's panels, and the low thrumm of warning interrupted the answer to Llant's question.

“Wolfe? Star?”

“Two intruders.” Wolfe’s fingers raced over her console. “Klingons. In engineering!”

“Shields up. Crew alert. Allallu, you have the bridge. Wolfe, with me.” Llant was in motion, headed toward the lift. She unclipped the phaser from her belt as she stepped off the bridge, and saw Wolfe do the same.

“Two Klingons is not an invasion force.” Wolfe’s dark face looked composed, even interested, as the lift sped toward engineering. “Although I imagine you’re more inclined to hurt them than discover just what the _klem’shak_ they were thinking by coming aboard.”

Her first officer was warning her. Llant’s fingers relaxed against the grip of her phaser. “Very funny, Wolfe. Yet it would be irresponsible of me, as ship’s captain, not to impress them with the extent of their poor judgment.”

“We had our shields down.”

“What are you trying to say?” Llant stared at Wolfe. If her officer’s intent had been to calm and center her before a confrontation, the tactic had worked. “No invitations were issued to drop in and view the Star’s engines.”

The lift opened.

“Of course not. But you won’t shoot them on sight now, will you?”

“No promises. How is it you always know when I’m operating on instinct instead of reason?” Llant heard Wolfe laugh, and shook her head in mock disapproval. “And why would you care if I shot them on sight?”

The scene in engineering put an effective end to the conversation. It reminded Llant of something out of a vidplay.

Morgan and Gwen stood with phasers aimed at two Klingons, who looked as if they knew just how deep a pile they’d stepped into. Sheila had one hand on her hip, the other brandished a large adjustagrip at the intruders. She barely stopped to take a breath as she acknowledged her captain’s presence with a sloppy salute.

“These bastards scared the wits out of me.”

“Gwen and I pinned them as soon as they materialized,” Morgan said casually. “They weren’t very well prepared for espionage, if that’s what they had in mind. One weapon apiece.”

“Well done. Wolfe and I will take them off your hands.” Llant reached deep for her coldest voice. “To the brig, Wolfe.”

That got a reaction from one of the Klingons. He threw his head and shoulders back and glared at her, lips curled into a half-snarling grimace.

 _Do your worst, bitch,_ Llant interpreted.

“That one’s typical Klingon, but I think the other is in shock, Cap. Be gentle.” Morgan tucked her phaser into her belt and backed away to let Wolfe take her position. Gwen followed her example and turned toward Sheila.

A small window of opportunity, but the Klingon Morgan had judged to be in shock found sufficient initiative to take advantage of the change in guardianship. He lunged toward Gwen’s back, and dropped unconscious.

Llant looked down at the phaser in her hand, and shrugged at the now expressionless face of the remaining Klingon. "Extra time in the gym, Gwen. That was careless.”

“Sorry, Llant,” Gwen said, embarrassed.

“Wolfe, Morgan, carry him to the brig.” Llant motioned the other Klingon away from the body on the floor. “He’ll wake up with a headache, nothing worse. But I jumped my phaser setting a notch, so don’t try the same trick.”

The warrior took a step toward her, eyes angry and defiant. “We are here in error. My captain must be notified.”

“Good assessment.” She’d seen taller Klingons, but on the arrogant scale this one rated a 10. His shoulders were squared, his fists clenched as he worked to restrain an obvious desire to repeat his companion’s action.

“Your name, rank?”

“Korax. First officer, IKS Gr'oth.” He managed to simultaneously sneer and growl his answer.

Llant caught Wolfe’s grimace as her first officer placed force cuffs on the unconscious Klingon. “It’s almost like a gift.”

Wolfe rolled her eyes. "After we settle this one, I’ll be on the bridge.”

“We’ll be in my quarters.” Llant motioned the Klingon in front of her. “Let’s take a walk, First Officer Korax.”

"Your quarters?" Wolfe stopped dead in her tracks.

"Keep moving. I've got this," Llant said. "Star will keep an eye on him."

 

 _KORAX: FIRST CONTACT_

“You drink liquor, First Officer Korax?”

She had said: _we'll be in my quarters_. Korax found he had difficulty accepting the idea that this large, softly-lit area, containing not only a bewildering number of shapes, colors and furnishings -- but what looked like the beverage counter of a commercial hospitality establishment -- could be a single individual's living quarters.

Captain Gornu's voice had been key to the exterior door, and her voice was key to a secure cavity in the ship's structure behind that counter. She had placed her phaser into the cavity, removing the weapon from sight, neutralizing it as a means of personal defense. The action seemed inexplicable.

Korax thought he had maintained his facade of indifference while trying to absorb the oddities of the Takka'aq Dorg's interior. Visible technology was as sophisticated as he’d been led to expect, from countless popular stories of the sentient, semi-organic starship.

"Drink?" Korax watched Gornu's actions with wary interest. She selected a decanter and two glasses from the wall behind the counter. She filled each glass half full of amber liquid.

“Don’t waste my time claiming you transported here due to the incompetence of transporter personnel.” She came within arm’s length of him and offered him a glass. “Even Klingons aren’t that incompetent.”

She was quite small, this human female his superiors viewed with such caution. Llant’Gornu, warbird killer. _Sheld'kaj_ , enemy of all Klingons, potential trophy of war.

Korax took the drink. He sniffed. Liquor of some kind, with a pungent, not unpleasant odor.

“It’s whiskey. Rather good whiskey.” She sat down on an overstuffed construction with a pattern of wear that indicated it was probably her preferred seat in the room. “Sit.”

“I prefer to stand.” Korax weighed the glass in his hand, and thought about his chances of hitting her if he threw it. “If you think to disorient me before interrogation, I warn you --”

"It's a waste of breath to warn me about anything." She tipped her own glass and drank some of the liquid. “What do you think about where you are?”

“I think this is a soft place.”

The room was larger than Koloth's personal quarters. Lighting was dimmer than it had been in the general ship spaces, more familiar to his eyes. A padded bench and deep chairs were illuminated by globe lights, glowing islands in the darker room. The entire room had a fluidity and sculptured appearance that made Korax uncomfortable. He wondered if everything had been molded in place, or somehow extruded from the ship.

“Soft. You say that like a condemnation.” She smiled. “This is my personal space. I find it comfortable.”

“Comfort.” Korax pushed his booted toe into the thick plushness of the floor covering. “Not a warrior’s word,” he sneered. “Why am I here? I demand to be treated like a prisoner. I demand that my captain be notified of our status.”

She took a slow sip of her drink. “Attempted espionage is the charge pending. You are a Klingon, crew member of a ship that has caused the Federation considerable trouble. I have the right to interrogate you.”

“My Captain must be informed. It is your own law.”

“Won’t he miss you, otherwise?”

It occurred to Korax that physical torture, although easiest and most expected, wasn’t the only tool in the interrogator’s arsenal. For a moment she reminded him of Koloth, although he wasn’t sure whether it was her tone of voice or cocky demeanor. His arm tensed. He lifted the glass as if to drink.

“You wouldn’t hit me,” she observed. “You know who I am?"

"Captain Llant'Gornu. Enemy of the Klingon High Council."

"All the best people are." She examined him over the rim of her glass. "I'm currently acting as contract security for Le’Ling and the Tribblion. I’m not interested in your espionage attempt -- you didn’t have a chance. I _am_ concerned with ending the Tribble-Jones business as soon as possible. Sit down. That stiff-assed Klingon warrior posturing is tedious.”

Korax felt a rush of _zha’betsh_ , his body’s involuntary chemical preparation for battle. Her words were almost casual, but there was no fear in her and the sense of challenge was strong. Korax weighed the facts with difficulty, suppressing his natural urge to attack. His precarious position aboard the Gr'oth, and climb to First Officer, had taught him that a warrior’s natural instincts might, at times, be better channeled and weighed against the outcome of this natural urge.

“I know who you are, _sheld’kaj_. I will answer no questions until my captain is notified.”

“I’m not going to ask you for Klingon military secrets, you fool.”

An interesting alteration in the color of her skin, and outright hostility in her voice provoked another surge of _zha’betsh_. Korax ground his teeth and tried to think of Koloth’s face when the human captain finally communicated their capture.

“I want to know some things about Cyrano Jones.”

Korax shifted his weight uncomfortably. One of the oddest requests she could have made, he thought. “Don’t we all -- but both the vermin _and_ the vermin peddler have been out of our lives for over a ship’s year. There is nothing else I can tell you about him. Why am I not in your brig?”

“That would be too kind. You are locked up very securely right now, and I think you realize it. Sit down, drink your whiskey, and we’ll have a conversation.”

Her eyes were as green as the sky over Mount Taqjel on a clear winter morning, Korax thought, refusing to break eye contact. She was _far_ more annoying than Koloth on his worst day.

“If you’re waiting for the male-in-charge to appear, you’re going to grow gray with the waiting,” she said.

“I said -- I know who you are.” Korax felt a shock of understanding. It was one thing to know rationally, intellectually, that he’d been assigning her an inferior authority due to her sex. Accepting emotionally that she was the counterpart of any of his superiors -- and possibly any of _their_ superiors -- was disorienting and disturbing. And, Korax admitted to himself, while it was an acceptance he instinctively fought, it was a truth he must acknowledge in order to remain effective.

“Knowledge of Takka’aq Dorg’s engines would be an impressive gift to present your council. A cloaking device superior to the Romulans’ would certainly merit a promotion, recognition -- or other substantial reward. And, with all crews on shore leave, and screwing around indiscriminately, perhaps not such an impossible goal,” she added. “Unfortunately for you and your comrade, my crew is all on board.”

“If I have attempted such a thing?” Interesting. She disliked the shore leave activities as much as he did. One quick, unguarded flash of hard irritation had marred her composure.

“You have. The first really interesting question is, why?”

“Why not?” Inappropriate humor almost made him smile. His amusement ebbed as he saw her face transformed by a swift, fierce laugh. _Too observant,_ Korax thought. _She watches me as closely as I watch her._

Klingons had scarce, sometimes conflicting, information about how humans treated hostile prisoners. One of the Gr'oth’s primary missions was to increase the Empire’s understanding of humanity. Which meant someone in the Empire assumed humanity was comprehensible. Korax wasn’t sure the assumption had merit.

Llant’Gornu. Pronounced _sheld’kaj_ , potential war trophy, by the council. By reputation viciously thorough and superbly competent in combat. A female in the place of highest authority aboard a ship of females -- a situation outside Klingon experience. Korax recalled the speed with which she had reacted to Kash’s movement. That this human had a warrior's reputation and a captain’s authority, oddly mated to a soft, female exterior, was increasingly unsettling.

Her exterior. Korax evaluated her body as she walked toward the bar. Her unrelieved black, form-fitting garment emphasized, where Klingon fashion would have minimized, just how female she was.

“Do you believe soft treatment will render me unguarded?”

“I know little about Klingons -- apart from the fact that your race's predisposition to warfare is indiscriminate, usually mindless. I know you're my prisoner, yet you look at me with contempt." She studied him from the far side of the bar. "What would a Klingon do to a prisoner in your situation? Question with torture, use that infamous mindsifter?”

“We do what is necessary. Klingon warriors are not soft.”

“And I am?”

“In spite of your reputation, you are still human, and female.” Korax said.

“Not subtle, but predictable.” Gornu faced him from behind the bar. She was no longer smiling. “Where did Koloth put Jones?”

“I answered that question. I will answer no more until you speak with my captain.”

“He really doesn’t know you’re here? It was your own idea?”

"Shaitan’s stones." Korax recognized smug sarcasm when he heard it. He was being detained by a female verion of Koloth. This was like a bad dream following a plate of half-dead gagh. Without pausing to think, he took a large swallow of the drink he held. Fire exploded inside his throat and stomach. It tasted vile. He took another drink “What is this? It numbs the tongue and throat and tastes very bad.”

“Tribblion whiskey.” She lifted her own glass in salute. “It tastes very good.”

“Captain.” The word hung in the air.

“Yes, Wolfe?” She sat her glass down on the bar.

“I’d like to send a few of the fly-bys down to the surface,” the voice requested.

“Approved.”

Her posture subtly altered as she looked at him. Korax tossed back the rest of his drink. Preliminaries were over.

“I don’t know the exact number of Klingons I’ve killed. There wasn’t time or opportunity for conversation with any of them. So you’re in a unique category: first live Klingon I’ve had to question." She refilled her glass. "I admit to a certain amount of improvisation. You say you won’t answer questions. I assume you expect me to move into areas of more stringent persuation.”

“A Klingon warrior does not divulge information to the enemy,” Korax said, managing a sneer. “However stringently you may persuade.”

“My arguments may be more subtle than you anticipate.” She leaned slightly forward over the bar, staring into his eyes. “Your mindsifter is a primitive device, First Officer Korax. While I do not dismiss the primitive merits of employing pain as a motivator, it’s not my first choice.”

The whiskey settled warm in his stomach. Korax took a deep breath. “Well, make a choice. I’m bored.”

“Bored?” She pointed past him at the wallscreen, where the Enterprise hung against the backdrop of the planet. “Thanks to Le’Ling’s orders, I have plenty of time to waste being bored with you. Bring your glass over here.”

“If you’re trying to impair my judgment, you must know Klingons do not react to alcohol as swiftly as feeble humans.” Korax slid his glass across the bar.

She poured more liquid into their glasses. “Yet you accept more. Could you develop a taste for it?”

“It bites like Klingon liquor.” Korax took a long drink. He shook his head. “A second glass tastes no better. It is my right under your own law to demand to speak with my captain,” he said carefully.

“Demand? That’s the third time you’ve used that word. Do Klingons expect _their_ prisoners to make demands?” She turned her back on him and stared at the wallscreen. “This is a test, First Officer Korax. What is the most intelligent thing you could do under these circumstances? Answer one easy question, and you can go back to your ship.”

This wasn’t just about Jones. It wasn’t just about his trespass on her ship. “Klingons do not look for the easy way,” Korax said, cautiously. “The intelligent decision is rarely the easy one.”

She turned away from the wallscreen and stared at him, frowning. “You are a warrior, I am a trader,” she said slowly. “A trader offers something in return for something of like value. I’ve found success using simple trading techniques. I offer you a simple trade.”

“You say you have killed many warriors,” Korax said. “You are not viewed as a simple trader by the high council. Even if I knew the answer to your question, I would not give it to you.”

“Is that why you boarded my ship? Not for information, but to shorten the _sheld’kaj_ roll?” She left the safety of the bar.

Korax shifted his gaze from her hard green eyes down to his empty glass. “I had no such intention. But if the opportunity presents itself, I am a warrior. Although to kill a human woman, even _sheld’kaj_ , seems to offer little challenge.”

She laughed, a sound of unguarded enjoyment that made Korax’ spinal ridges prickle. He looked back to her face quickly. His intended insult seemed to have badly missed the mark.

“Whatever your council calls me, my primary reason for existence is trade and profit.” She sat down on the bench and pointed to a nearby chair. “Sit.”

“Even the Federation questions that avowal,” Korax said flatly. He sat carefully on the edge of the nearest chair. “You must have relatively few safe ports left.”

“The Federation is inflexible, and regrettably often entrenched behind tradition. And most of the high-ranking human members are old men.” She tucked her legs underneath her and leaned back into the bench. “Do you know how many times you’ve made me laugh since boarding my ship, Korax?”

“Again -- I had no such intention.” It seemed conversation was a form of warfare for this human. Again, Koloth came to mind. At least he seemed to be holding his own with Gornu, Korax told himself, something he’d never managed to do with Koloth. “In our culture old warriors are honored. What do humans honor?”

“A list will be without meaning. Words. You know no more of my culture than I know of yours.”

Korax sat back a bit further in the chair. She had no idea how much time the Empire had spent trying to understand human culture.

“I carry no weapon. I have turned my back on you. Have you considered you might physically overpower me and attempt to use me as a hostage to get off the Star?”

Korax tugged at his moustache to hide his amusement. “That might fall in the category of _easy decisions_. I saw what measures you used to secure your weapon. I notice several of your ship’s panels at varying heights in this room which are undoubtedly monitoring devices, probably capable of energy discharge.” He saw her nod agreement. “Under other circumstances it would be unwise to turn your back on a Klingon prisoner.”

“Perhaps. You may be a Klingon warrior, and mass more than I do, but my hand-to-hand skills will at least match yours.”

Korax felt his back prickle again. “Do you challenge me?”

“Not at the moment. The challenge here --” she trailed off. “I haven’t seen you below. How do you feel about the activities of your crewmates? And the rumors our Captains have been engaging in -- intimate conversation?”

An abrupt change of subject. Korax frowned. “I don’t understand. Koloth would have no contact with that -- “

“Tribble trader? Would it surprise you to know that Koloth and Le’Ling are having sex?”

“No.” Korax found himself on his feet. “I don’t believe you. Koloth is a captain, he wouldn't risk his position.”

“What else could they be doing all night in a Wrigley pavilion?” she asked. “Believe me, I’ve tried to come up with an alternate explanation.”

Korax felt his thoughts tilt away from the idea of _anyone_ finding Koloth sexually attractive. “You must be wrong.”

“I hope I am.” Her expression seemed puzzled. “I know why I’m repulsed by the idea, but you seem even more distressed. I assume Klingons have sex -- when they can’t kill something for excitement. Is it because Koloth has a wife? Or equivalent relation with a Klingon female?”

“No wife. And it would be improper for me to notice what my captain does for recreation.” Would such a thing be possible? Is that why Koloth had been off the ship since they arrived at this cursed place? Korax found himself envying Kash, probably unconscious in the Star’s brig, spared a surprisingly vivid mental image of Koloth and a human woman . . .

“How many female warriors aboard the Gr'oth?” she asked casually. “I’ve never seen a Klingon female.”

Korax composed himself and resumed his seat. “We have a few female warriors. They can be useful for menial maintenance work. Fifteen, I believe. Although twice that number is more usual.”

“Fifteen? Out of a crew of nearly 100?”

“Our women are not soft. They work hard.” Had he missed some crucial clue? There was no secret here. There would have been many opportunities for the Star’s sensors to gather basic information on the Gr'oth’s crew. Yet she seemed confused by his statement. “There is no incompetence or sloth allowed on a warbird. Female warriors are capable or they would not be part of the crew.”

“I was thinking of social, rather than military, ramifications. I must assume you do not spend long stretches of time between port calls -- those 15 females are very accommodating -- or perhaps Vulcans and Klingons have more in common than we’ve imagined.”

“Was that an example of human humor?” And the council thought they would ever understand these humans. “Warriors are male, females are necessary. But true warriors have more important things to occupy mind and body,” Korax said, teeth clenched. “Is everything about sex, profit, or dishonorable behavior with your people? This would certainly explain James T. Kirk ... ”

She abandoned her posture of ease on the bench, and began to pace near the wallscreen. “Nothing explains James Kirk. Do you have a relationship with a Klingon female?”

“I have a career. I do not spend time with females.” Korax bit the inside of his cheek. Her warning about the torture had been honest and prophetic.

“A male lover, then?”

“No, I am not _don’hel_. I am a Klingon officer with duties and responsibilities that fill my time. Unlike human males, Klingon warriors are not preoccupied with sex. Just another way in which we are superior to humans,” Korax said. He was proud of the way the rebuke rolled off his tongue. It was possible he _had_ learned something useful serving under Koloth.

She laughed so hard that her eyes shut, and she gripped the back of a chair for support. Korax felt the fleeting moment of pride slip away into bewilderment. He felt inexplicably sure that Gornu wasn’t laughing _at_ him. He’d surprised her in some fundamental way.

“No offense,” she managed to say at last. “I know it’s possible for healthy, unmistakably male creatures to substitute aggressive behavior for sexual drive. Happens with humans, sometimes. But this attitude would certainly be a challenge to Le’Ling. I wonder if this is what draws her to your Klingon Captain.”

“I will not speculate. I remain first officer on the Gr'oth because I take care not to irritate Koloth. And speculating about his relationship with a Tribble Smuggler would certainly irritate him.” Intrusion on any part of Koloth's personal life was to be avoided, Korax knew from observing the experiences of first officers before him.

“What about families. Wives and children? Are all warriors single?”

“Most cannot afford a family until they retire from service. A few have inherited lands and credit, and keep families, but rarely see them. Unless you are posted on the ground, it is a hardship to maintain the honor of a family from a distance. The majority serve their time, then find mates. Those, like myself, who have no strong family ties or reason to return home, often spend their lives in military service, and never found a family.” His eyes followed her as she paced.

“So, what do you do in your spare time?”

“Wrestle, sleep.” Korax rose, crossed to the bar and helped himself to the whiskey. “Practice the weapon arts. Read technical manuals. Occasionally listen to a new opera.”

“And that keeps you occupied?”

“The rest of the time I’m on duty. It is a warrior’s life. A good life,” he said defensively.

“And shore leave?”

“Gaming, fighting, drinking.” Korax shrugged. “Shore leave happens very seldom.”

She stood, stretched, and unclipped her hair slides. Her hair was the color of hungry fire, and longer than he thought it would be.

“You are no larger than one of our half-grown children, just strong enough to lift a batleth. What does a notorious _sheld’kaj_ do for recreation? When you’re not killing warriors.”

“Fair question, is that Klingon humor?” she laughed. “Oddly my list doesn’t differ much from yours. I exercise, read. My security chief is a talented t’chak player. We drink whiskey, play poker, tell stories. I have even enjoyed a few bar brawls.”

“And you have no mate? And no males on board this ship? The other stories they tell -- ”

“Stories are not always factual representations of events,” she said. “Men have been part of my life. And my crew is energetic at finding companionship on our frequent port calls.” She gestured at her body. “If my intelligence is accurate, Koloth finds Ling appealing enough to pursue both a social and intimate relationship. What does a Klingon warrior think when he looks at a human woman?”

Korax considered the question, surprised at how defensive it made him feel. “You are female. Softer than a Klingon female. But you would not be without appeal -- particularly if a warrior was interested in young, underdeveloped females.”

“Underdeveloped?” Her voice sharpened. “I’ve been characterized as many things, but that’s a first.”

“Why are you interested in what a Klingon warrior thinks? Or how he sees you?” Korax frowned, trying to make sense of her behavior.

“Those are both good questions.” She answered slowly, seeming to choose her words. “I had never considered that the life of a Klingon warrior might be so devoid of contact. Is all physical closeness with your fellows violent? Do you ever touch socially in a nonviolent way?”

Korax shrugged. “Why would a warrior wish to do such a thing?”

“For bonding, support, affection. There are human rituals of contact that convey casual friendship to intimate desire. Do Klingons have anything similar? Do Klingons kiss?”

Korax choked on his whiskey, and backed away a step, mental alarms an alert. How had she changed so suddenly? Hair unbound like a Klingon female's, a throaty undertone to her questions, an expression in her eyes that reminded him of a stalking klath -- the danger he perceived was not physical, but existed on a plane where even a Klingon warrior might never choose to battle.

“Put me in your brig.”

She took a step toward him. “It was only a question.”

“It was the way you asked,” he admitted. He regretted his words when he saw the change in her face.

“For a male not preoccupied with females, you’re adept at picking up female nuances. Kissing is not a torture, it’s a Terran custom, touching mouth to mouth. It can be welcoming, soothing, reassuring. Erotic. Shall I demonstrate?”

“No.” WIth an effort he held his ground.

“Am I repulsive by your standards? Underdeveloped, deformed perhaps?”

“Repulsive, not exactly. Intrusive, yes. Why pursue these question with me?”

“Curiosity. The need to understand what my comrade has been doing. Aren’t you curious too? Why your officer would seek the company of a human woman? Why a human woman would evidently prefer the company of a Klingon warrior to the best human males Star Fleet has to offer?”

Korax flexed his fingers, craving the feel of any weapon under his control. “You are now physically close enough for me to consider your behavior an immediate challenge. Will you greet death with as much humor as you pursue this foolish question?”

“Today is not a good day to die, First Officer Korax. And this method may be unusual, but I’m beginning to think verbal exchange might be an inferior method of exploring the question.” She closed the last few inches between them, and placed her hands, open palms down, on his shoulders. "See. I offer no threat."

A minute movement of a wall ornament caught his eye. "Yet threat there is," he said, keeping his body rigid.

She raised her height by standing on her toes, then slowly moved one hand to his face. Her finger traced the outline of his mustache, then, leaning all her weight against his body, touched her mouth to his.

His instinct howled to take her by the neck and throw her across the room. Korax clenched his fingers into fists and stared at the camouflaged weapon on the wall. The press of weight from her body, the odd scent of her skin and mouth that filled his lungs confounded instinct.

“No response?” she stepped back. “Do you understand the gesture?”

“I understand the gesture, but not your behavior. Are you through?” Korax transferred his gaze from the wall to her face. Shameful, unwarriorlike relief accompanied her withdrawal. “Klingon pairs may use similar greetings."

“Have you ever kissed a Klingon woman?”

“Shaitan, no! And I would prefer bloody torture to this conversation.” His lungs could not purge the scent of her hair and skin. The pelvic shelf which protected his groin had snapped into place as soon as she touched him. A feeling of tight discomfort grew. “Do all human females question so endlessly?”

“Are all warriors so evasive?” She began to laugh, studying him with a frank intensity that made him square his shoulders. “This is the first time I have ever seen a Klingon assume a purely defensive posture. If I confronted you with a knife you would probably rush at me. But you have no idea how to respond to a nonthreatening touch.”

“Your behavior is more complex than that. Combat is a primary part of a warrior’s education. The physical is easiest to master. Theory and analysis are more difficult for the Klingon mind, and few of our leaders excel at it. I am not such a leader, but your reputation precedes you, _sheld’kaj_. With or without a knife in those small hands, I view any contact with you as threatening.”

“I should have had conversation with a Klingon long before this.” She took a step back and appraised him, head to toe. “I will make a bargain with you, in the interests of my education and your rights. Kiss me, I’ll inform your Captain you are here.”

“You insist on pursuing this? That would be all? Kiss you, then you’ll call the Gr'oth?” Korax flexed his shoulders, taking several deep breaths. “If you are in earnest, it is a stupid bargain, but one I will agree to. Let’s get it over with.”

“That’s the wrong attitude if you’re about to kiss someone. You must anticipate it, desire it.” She put her hands on his shoulders again.

Korax bent and touched his mouth to hers, then pulled away swiftly. “Done!” He avoided her eyes. “Move back now.”

“That wasn’t a kiss!” Gornu took another half step toward him, eliminating any space between their bodies. “Put your hands on my waist.” She guided his hands to rest on her hips. “Now pull me close against your body.”

“Closer than this?” Korax snorted. “You continually put yourself in a position where you may be harmed. Even if you are skilled at hand combat, at this proximity you have forfeited any advantage.”

“At this proximity, I usually gain the advantage.” Gornu moved easily against him, her arms over his shoulders, unplated breasts pushing against his chest. “You ought to do something about these uniforms,” she observed. “Horrible fabric.” She touched his hair, brought a handful to her face. “You smell like burnt orange and sandalwood, and something male.”

She smelled like nothing he could name; the closest thing he had experienced was the smell of alien flowers in an arboretum. And either her smell, or perhaps an allergic reaction to the whiskey, was making him slightly disoriented. The feeling intensified as her fingers stroked his cheek and the lines of his mustache.

“Mimic what I do. Kissing is an exploration.”

Korax watched her eyes half-close, her lips part. He moved his hands from her hips and closed them about her throat.

“Is this a task beyond a Klingon warrior’s ability to accomplish?” Gornu’s body posture did not alter.

“ _jIyajbe'_...” he snarled, lowering his hands slowly.

“That’s much better.” She stretched against his body, leaning into him with her full weight. “Impress me, Klingon.”

Korax hesitated, registering her weight and dimensions. His hands traced the lines of her hips, settling over the strongly curving bones of her pelvis. She was too soft to be a captain. Soft, round and curved, yet she fit against his body . . .

 _What could she gain from this bizarre experiment?_

He slid one hand into her bright hair. It threaded through his fingers, cool, heavy and soft, but strong when he grasped a length in his fist. It was not unpleasant to touch her. And she smelled . . .

Korax lowered his head to hers and concentrated on mimicking the movement of her lips. It was a shock to find how flexible and firm her lips and tongue felt against his, how the sensation of heat built, how her mouth tasted like her smell. It was more than a shock to find he was pressing her hips tighter against his body. His instinct howled louder than it had before, but this time it wanted something new.

She made a sound, and the bone-plates along his spine flexed involuntarily. The expression in her half-closed eyes was nearly as disturbing as the internal hardness against his pelvic shelf.

 _Impossible_ , he thought. _Impossible._


	3. Chapter 3

_GORNU: FIRST CONTACT_

It took a few moments to realize Korax had stopped kissing her. A hyper-sensual awareness she hadn't experienced since meld with Starr on Vulcan made it seem like even her usually comfortable uniform chafed against skin that would rather be naked.

“That was an extraordinary effort." Llant stared at his mouth with a feeling of hypnotized fascination. There was no visible, rational explanation for her body's reaction to his kiss. "You’ve earned that call to the Gr'oth.”

“This action is considered a casual greeting between men and women in your culture?” Korax' eyes were direct, unclouded by aggression for the first time since his capture.

“Not exactly. That was more like a courting greeting.” Llant pushed the thick waves of hair away from his face. She was relieved to find her hands were steady. “Unmistakably in the erotic category. I thought you weren’t interested in such things.”

“I’ve never held a female like this before. Klingon courtship is more strenuous, and you're correct in your observation that a warrior seldom touches another in passive way.” He was rubbing his thumbs over her hipbones, and his body was hard against her. He had made no attempt to put distance between them. When his fingers brushed lower over her stomach Llant had to bite her tongue to keep from making a sound of pleasure. An ache of _want_ clenched muscles in places that hadn't clenched for a long time.

“How do human males react? What follows such a greeting? I find this ritual has unexpected -- side-effects.”

“When done correctly.” It was time for a little distance. Llant tried to push away from him, but he tightened his grip. “I wasn’t expecting quite that degree of enthusiasm. A human male might wish to suggest other courting rituals. A human female would at this time indicate her degree of interest.” She was talking like a Vulcan, _never_ a good sign.

“What other courting rituals?” There was an unsettling quality of interest in the question.

Llant could feel heat from his body through the ugly Klingon fabric, and it seemed to be increasing. “We could enjoy a meal together.”

“Was that human humor? Let me review the information you have given me. Kissing.”

He had beautiful eyes, deep brown with long lashes. There was an expression on his face Llant recognized with a dizzying surge of tense expectancy, but had never thought to see on a Klingon face.

“I think I can do better. I wish to try again.” His hands caressed the curve of her spine, molding her body against his. One hand cupped her rear and pushed her hips tight against his. “Your skin is cool, but your mouth is not,” he said against her neck. He moved his hand to stroke a line from her collarbone, over her breast, to rest rest above her hip. “Klingon women are more angular. Are all human women soft over hard?”

He held his mouth just above hers, staring down into her eyes. Llant knew she was breathing too fast, knew her body had decided it wanted something her mind was appalled to consider.

He made a sound deep in his throat, like the warning growl of some predatory animal. “I feel strange.”

“I think you feel strange, too.” A visualization of the dark-eyed warrior, naked in her bed, brought an anticipatory pressure between her legs. “You’ve fulfilled the terms of our bargain. Let me call your ship.”

“I’m not done yet. I can taste the scent I smell. Is part of the kissing ritual hunger? There is a sensation in my stomach that seems almost like hunger.” He bent his head and began to trace her collar bones with his tongue.

It was a shockingly erotic gesture. The tips of her breasts, pressed into his chest, began to throb with her heartbeat.

“What is your body like under this uniform? Does all your skin taste the same? I am experiencing a strong urge to bite you.” His teeth closed gently on her ear lobe, fingers cradling her face. “Klingons often bite each other during activities preliminary to coupling.”

Llant felt a shudder of pleasure from between her legs to the spot where his tongue lingered. _Yes, that was hunger, want and need. And if he kept doing that with his mouth, skimming her skin with that mustache, that tongue, she was going to start biting parts of him in return._

“Korax.” His mouth covered hers. Llant shut her eyes and tried to remember the last time a man’s kiss had made her feel dizzy, had melted away every rational thought of self-preservation and common sense. When he pulled his mouth away, her breathing was erratic, and her legs trembled. Is this why Le’Ling and Koloth were together? Weird, unexplainable, impossible chemistry?

Korax held her wrist against his mouth, eyes half closed as he inhaled her scent. His voice dropped so low it was a thread of vibration against her skin. “I have been with only one Klingon woman in my life. Other warriors speak of their pleasure in intimacy with females, but my experience was not particularly satisfying.”

“The kiss was an experiment, to put you on the defensive, see how you would react.” Llant found her voice still unreliable. It took her a moment before she could continue. “You chose the only reaction I didn't predict.”

“I am no more inclined to answer questions than when we first began this exchange. Yet I find myself eager to continue the interrogation. And if I am uncomfortable ...”

He released his hold on her. Llant managed to take a step backward. She shivered, her skin suddenly missing his heat.

“If what you say about my captain is true, physical interaction is possible between us. My body certainly considers it possible.” He frowned. “A kiss only, that was your intent.”

Llant fought the urge to turn and put the couch between them. “Yes. It was.”

“Your feelings about Klingons are -- legendary. I have fought humans and viewed them with contempt.” Korax closed the distance between them with a step. “Can these attitudes change with a touch? What happened when we kissed?”

“I have no more understanding than you do.”

“What I feel is almost like anticipation of battle. But battle is not what I anticipate. You are also a warrior. Do you feel this?”

The intensity in his voice was undeniable, overwhelming. “I feel something.”

“I know nothing at all about human women, and little about sex. No Klingon woman has ever made me feel this heat, this desire. And as little as I know about females, your body seems to share my desire." His brown eyes were nearly black. "It is a very disturbing sensation to suddenly view an adversary in this way.”

Korax pulled her back against his chest, rubbing one thumb along her backbone. “I wish to have sex with you. What must I do? It does not seem appropriate to approach you in the way I would a Klingon female.”

Llant made a partially successful attempt to control her breathing. She watched his face as he waited for her answer. “Impulsive sex with a stranger is a bad idea. And first kisses aren’t usually followed by immediate physical intimacy in my culture. It’s traditional to get to know your partner first.”

“Having never participated in impulsive sex, I have no previous experience upon which to base a judgment.” He smiled, a fierce expression of appreciation. “I said some foolish things, didn’t I? Embarrassing to have to reevaluate one’s philosophy in front of a human.”

“I didn’t think Klingons were so susceptible to argument and proof.” Llant closed her eyes, acutely aware of the renewed heat of his body. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to discover how this garment comes off.”

“Klingons are quick learners. Korax, do you really want to do this? Remember who I am, why you are here.” Llant made the protest with little energy. Rational thought was a vanishing island in a sea of desire.

“Llant’Gornu. _Sheld’kaj_ warrior. Klingon warbird killer. This is your experiment. You could back away, put me in your brig. That would be torture, indeed.” Korax’ laugh was a harsh, hungry sound. He licked her shoulder as her uniform curled around her waist.

“I could do that. I should do that.” Llant pulled his face back to hers, watched the humor leave his eyes as she ran her hands over his thighs. “I’d rather do this.”

“You wanted to know more about Klingons. Continue your education, and mine. I want to know what you look like, and feel like. I don’t know if it is possible, but I would like to make the attempt.”

The pulse of her heart was pounding between her legs. Llant closed her eyes and buried her face in the rough fabric covering his shoulder. “How do you remove this wretched uniform?”

 

Llant sat on the edge of her couch staring down at the sprawled Klingon. A surly, arrogant Klingon warrior, a criminal by her own laws of behavior, was naked on her couch. She followed the ridges of his backbone with her eyes, from his strongly muscled shoulders to the defined lines of his buttocks and thighs. Human and Kilingon, they were different, but amazingly compatible. And the sex had been . . . even with Starr at the height of meld, she’d never had better sex.

The contrast between the two men, and experiences, was, to use that all-purpose Vulcan observation, _fascinating._

Sex with mind meld had been pleasurable, but Llant knew one of the main reasons she had never regretted leaving Starr had _been_ the sex with mind meld. His mind was strong and disciplined. Hers had been strong and curious. While it was interesting to _know_ without any doubt what response a partner experienced from a particular action, it was in the final analysis too much like masturbation with a partner to be anything but a novelty. Llant found a sense of claustrophobia in having another identity so close to her own that the boundaries could blur.

That reaction had convinced her of their incompatibility. The H'russ' presence in her mind had never created that feeling. They co-existed when they interfaced, and shared, but there was no blurring of self, no combination of identities.

Sex with Korax had been wild, exuberant, frantic. They had not known exactly what the other needed. The act had been a mutual adventure, a celebration of exploration, trial and error. It had also been an act of trust, desperate patience, and extraordinary pleasure.

Korax opened his eyes and rolled over. “Are you all right? Toward the end I forgot what a soft human you are.” His expression was intense, possessive as he looked at her.

She bent over him and let her hair pile on his chest. “I thought photon torpedoes were impacting somewhere nearby,” she teased. “I’m flexible, and stronger than I look. All I remember feeling is great pleasure.”

His hand cupped her breast, bringing a flush to her skin. “Your strength is not obvious, it's so well included in your body's design.” Korax caressed one rosy nipple. “What an absurd color. And your backbone. So slightly defined, yet you are nearly as strong as a Klingon female.”

Llant lifted his other hand into place. “I don’t have the words. The stars sang.”

“I didn’t know if that was real.” Korax’ hands closed on her waist and he swung her onto his hips. “Let's see if it happens again.”

“Again?" Llant felt the new tenderness of soft flesh that had been battered against bone register a moment of complaint. Her hands pushed against the protective plate over his lower stomach, and it moved up to fully expose his penis. He was no longer than an average human male, but thicker with ridged, flexible cartilage inside the shaft. She opened her legs wide, letting her body sink over him. It took a moment, but she was still slick and the second time she held him fully inside her was easier than the first. Llant rose and fell, using her knees and thighs to lever herself against his body. There was some discomfort, and overly sensitized skin, but the immediate feeling of growing fullness and tickling promise of orgasm made the discomfort seem inconsequential.

A long, low growl vibrated through his body. "This brings you pleasure."

It wasn't a question. Llant turned her head to one side, baring her throat to him. She continued moving. "Great pleasure. And you? Is there something more for you?"

His fingers touched the pulse of her neck. "The first time your face was away from me, I couldn't watch you. It is difficult not to take a more active role in this, but the sight of you doing that, and the sensation --" His head fell back and he arched his spine away from the couch, rising to push into her. "By Kahless! Just keep doing that . . ."

 

_KORAX: PAR'MACH_

Korax fought to stay awake and savor the sensation of Llant'Gornu’s bare skin against his chest. She slept against him, naked and unafraid, exhausted as he was.

Sex with her had been more exhilarating, dangerous, and more satisfying than any fight he’d ever been in.

He buried his nose in her hair, remembering. His brief encounter with the Klingon shipmate had been quick and labored. She was compliant, surly, but basically uninterested. He remembered, after all this time -- _Aren’t you through yet? I have other duties._

Llant'Gornu had been eager and interested. Very interested.

Korax kissed one bare shoulder. She sighed and turned toward him, draping an arm over his chest. Unaccustomed emotion sent his mind along paths it had never explored, back to memories of one of his old shipmates.

Revet had liked to do other things on shore leave besides drink and gamble. He had gotten removed to a permanent station on homeworld. _A weakness for females._ Korax remembered the whispers. For the first time he understood how a warrior could lose himself.

She had shouted his name while he was inside her, as pleasure came to them both. If she were Klingon, he would demand she take the oath with him. But she was human, an officer, a private citizen of the Federation owning properties worth more credit than he would see in a warrior’s lifetime. This was a recreation for her. Nothing more. He could not think of more. What burned in him was temporary and would pass.

_It must pass._

Korax looked at her and his chest seemed ready to explode. By Kahless, it would never pass. How could she become his breath and his heart in so short a time? How could he keep her, how could he leave her? They would never allow a warrior to formally call a human mate.

_I must have her as my wife. By law she might be._

His arms tensed involuntarily at the thought, and Llant’s eyes opened, sleepily.

He bent his head, touched his lips to her forehead. “ _Ke’tha, ke’san_ ,” he whispered against her skin, feeling the pulse of her blood under his lips. An overwhelming feeling of belonging tightened his stomach. “ _Ke’tha._ ”

“What does that mean?”

“It is a form of address between a male and female who are close,” Korax hedged.

“I never thought to learn so much about Klingons." Llant kissed the base of his throat, stretched and yawned. "My feelings about your people have been universally negative. I blew a warbird to atoms without remorse, and killed more warriors than I care to count. And you claim to be an average officer with no experience of women.”

“You aren’t what I expected, either. Something happens when you touch me, when I touch you. Is this usual between humans?” He was conscious of a tight, fierce ache as he asked the question.

“No. It's highly unusual. I've had other lovers, and enjoyed them. But I never had my heart forget to beat before.” She averted her eyes, trailing her mouth across the skin of his arm. “Is this usual between Klingons?”

“We do develop strong bonds, although I've never heard anyone describe such pleasure. It's not unusual for a pair to mate for life.” He couldn't ask her. She would never accept such a proposal. Such a woman could have any male she wanted as mate.

“Many humans do this, also.”

“How is it possible you don't have a mate? How could you be unclaimed?” Korax fought the terrible desire building in him, trying to ignore the words in his mind that demanded to be voiced.

“I'm still young, for a human woman.” Llant frowned and finally looked directly into his eyes. “No man has held my heart in this way. I've been busy growing, learning. Busy with the responsibilities of this ship.”

“Perhaps that is why I never sought other women -- apart from the disappointment I felt in my one encounter. Responsibility to the service has been my life.” He was silent for a moment, holding her tightly against his body.

“My family had eight sons, I was the second to youngest. They wanted to leave homeworld, find land and a place to advance our family. They enlisted me in service at the age of nine years. Fortunately I did well on the service evaluations, and received officer training. I could have ended up in the civil corps. I was fortunate.

“But I've had no close ties. Friends are few. Warriors have comrades. It's considered unnecessary to have relationships that are too intimate -- until retirement from the service. Many warriors take wives then, find another career. I had thought to work until mandatory retirement, at 80 years of age.”

Llant nodded. “I have no family, and only faint memories of them. Our colony was wiped out by a plague. Three of us survived. They sent us to an education and care facility.” She laughed, rubbed her cheek on his chest. “I was a renegade even then. Eventually I ran away from the facility, lived on my own for a while till the social officers caught me. I, too, did well on the evaluations. They shipped me off to a Federation training base, hoping the discipline and mission might keep me out of mischief. A futile hope.”

“You held Federation rank? So many things are said about you, it is hard to separate fact from tale.”

“I never rose beyond Ensign. And when the H’russ and I interfaced, I resigned. They pressured me to allow scientists aboard, wanted to pry into her guts. Star wouldn’t have let them do it even if I had been inclined to cooperate. The Feds said some harsh things, I said some harsh things. Then, I was on my own.”

“Your name is entered on our combat annals. You are _sheld’kaj_ , war trophy. To kill you in combat would bring great honor to a warrior.” He stroked her hip, kissed her forehead. “This thing we have done would bring notoriety but no honor to my name in the eyes of other warriors.”

“Do you regret our intimacy?”

It wasn't a casual question. Korax covered her mouth with his. He took his time with the kiss; to his amazement, he was beginning to recognize and understand her non-verbal physical cues. “My only regret is -- I’ve only had enough time to take you twice. To hold your naked body, to speak with you about our lives, I can imagine no higher honor or pleasure.”

“A pleasure indeed.” Llant smiled a wide, sleepy smile of contentment, twined his hair around her finger. “I don’t know what to do with you, Korax. And I am too relaxed and exhausted to consider the question right now.”

There was only one possible response. “Then lay quite still.” His put his lips between the cleft of her breasts. “I am still learning what to do with you, and I have a little energy left. There may be some of this soft skin I have not yet tasted, and it would be a pity to miss any. When you think of me, I want you to remember the places one kiss led to.”

“Korax.” She cried his name, her fingers locked in his hair.

“Yes, par’Machi?” He could feel his own breath rise back into his face, warm on the skin over her stomach. With mouth, tongue and fingers he explored the place her body opened, and felt the lean, long strength of her legs as muscles bunched and tightened. He expected her to move, to take some action, but she remained open, exposed. Her flesh here was the same color as her nipples, and tensile to the touch. Korax pushed his tongue against the small protrusion she had explained was sensitive to friction, when they first coupled. The noise she made sent a jolt of arousal through his own body.

"One kiss," he said. He experimented pulsing his tongue against her flesh. Her cries turned to words _ohyesyesyes_ "Welcoming . . . soothing . . . erotic. Will you remember?"

It was interesting to observe how utterly defenseless she was when she reached orgasm. He kept his hand splayed between her hips as her body shook, unable to prevent a smug grin of personal triumph off his face. To forget this day, he thought, they would both have to be dead.

 

_WOLFE: NOT INVITED TO THE ORGY_

Wolfe sat uneasily in Llant’s chair on the Star's bridge. She turned her head, and the pliable, responsive bit of H’russ furniture rotated to align her body with the direction of her gaze. She frowned equally at Kern, by the status panel, and Takworthy, who monitored off-ship communications.

“Aren’t those mobiles functioning yet?”

“Visual engage.” Kern spared a haughty look for Wolfe’s impatience.

“Audio engage.” Takworthy said. “Receiving transmissions from all mobiles. Networking and linking.”

Wolfe oriented on the far wall. “Star, play mobile transmissions in 30 second sequences.”

Morgan moved to stand beside Wolfe. She wasn't on duty, just curious and bored; always a dangerous combination for Morgan.

“The captain has been very quiet. It's been too long since she took him to her quarters.”

“She can handle a Klingon. If there were a problem, we would know. Star would know.” Wolfe hoped none of her inner doubt made it through to her voice.

“Of course.” Morgan's natural sarcasm made an appearance. "Because when Llant gets involved in a _situation_ we're always immediately brought up to speed on where the collision has occurred."

Star's interior wall changed as they watched, light and color shimmering into vidfeed. “It appears they're having fun down there.”

A parade of images flowed across the wallscreen.

 _A noisy, packed bar_ hosting a wild mixture of Le’Ling’s women, Klingons and a mass of unidentified humans and other species drinking, laughing, smoking and dancing in the murky atmosphere . . .

 _Pavilions_ in the park outside Wrigley Town, dancing and darting through shadow, sounds of bells and laughter, cries of pleasure . . .

 _Casinos,_ brilliant with flashes of gold and iridium, feverish activity about the tables . . .

 _L’chan pools,_ isolated, hypnotic. Drugged bodies gleaming in reflected moonlight on oiled water . . .

 _Bazaar shops_ teeming with buyers jammed between stalls and booths carved from giant hegala seeds. The noise of barter and hawking cries in the clear night air. Smooth rivers of silk, bright gleam of crystal, prismatic reflection from precious stones and gems . . .

 _Brisk, boisterous trade_ around the alcohol and drug tents . . .

The video mobiles relayed out from the immediate vicinity of the city, picking up stray parties of moonlight picnickers, couples playing in a shallow lake, lovers in thick field grass.

“What is our range of coverage?” Wolfe asked.

“Approximately 40 kilometers.” Kern clucked disapprovingly over her sensors. “We sent down every bit of workable hardware we could patch together. We’ve never done anything this extensive before.”

“Good job. Wrigley's knows?”

“We broadcast our intention. They don’t seem to care. Opportunity for voyeurism is just one more service they offer.”

“Star is recording everything?”

“Of course.”

Morgan moved restlessly. “Our sisters seem to be enjoying the search for Cyrano Jones,” she observed maliciously. “They look for him in places I would _never_ have thought to look.”

Wolfe frowned. “I wonder why we weren’t invited to the orgy. It’s obvious they’re not on duty tonight, whatever Le’Ling . . .” She broke off, feeling the cold of space invade her bones.

_It just wasn’t possible._

“H’ley awa! Wolfe. Do I recognize that ass?”

“Dammit. Nails, Morgan.” Wolfe removed Morgan’s fingers from her arm. “Hold on this mobile, Tak!” Wolfe stared at the haystack, silvered by moonlight.

. . . (soft noises, growls?) _very hard_ . . . (woman’s laughter) . . . _hay sticking me through this blanket, this is not as romantic as it looks_ . . . (soft noises) . . . _going to look like a pincushion tomorrow_ . . . _don’t need to be underneath_ . . .

Morgan muttered something incomprehensible.

“Le’Ling and a Klingon?” Takworthy asked, making an easy identification of the naked woman.

“It's Captain Koloth.” Wolfe touched the intercom. “Gornu to the bridge.”

“Wolfe? What is it?” Llant's voice sounded oddly breathless.

“We have a transmission from the planet you need to see. Now.” Wolfe cocked her head and looked a question at Morgan, who shrugged.

“Relay it to my quarters.”

“Is the Klingon still there? Alive?” Wolfe saw Morgan’s wide grin, ignored it.

“Alive? Yes. Of course.”

That didn’t sound right. Wolfe’s sense of internal unease intensified to an almost physical pain. “You probably don’t want him to view it, Captain.”

“On my . . . way.”

“She sounded funny. Off,” Morgan said, echoing Wolfe’s own thoughts. “Guilty. He might still be alive, but I’ll bet she hurt him.”

Wolfe wasn't concerned about the Klingon. Living or dead really made no difference to her. But Llant's moments of unpredictability . . . she shuddered, glaring at the transmitted images. They needed to leave the nasty little planet and get back to work.


	4. Chapter 4

_GORNU: AFTERSHOCKS_

Llant stepped off the lift into a wall of concentrated stares from her officers. Wolfe in particular looked darkly disturbed. Llant knew she didn’t smell like sex, and the bruises were covered by her uniform. There was no way they could _know_ just by looking at her.

“Play transmission.” She took her seat and watched the replay with growing detachment and cold fatalism. A small part of her mind noted that a naked Koloth was clearly inferior to a naked Korax.

Her intelligence report had been confirmed in vivid color and action, in front of her officers. The Star's affiliation with Le'Ling and the Tribblion had just been terminated in a very public, very messy way.

“Star, seal these vids to my authorization. I’ll deal with this.” She left the com to Wolfe, and fled the bridge.

There was only one person on the ship she could talk to about a lapse of sanity and good judgment of this magnitude.

 

“Come.” Glo answered her door signal immediately.

“I have a problem.”

“You’re disturbed. What's wrong?” Glo sat cross-legged in a H'russ extension that looked like a wide armchair. She wore her shipboard default shape, that of a slender, brown-haired woman.

Unremarkable, unnoticeable, the womanform could blend seamlessly into any human gathering. Llant had often wondered why Glo liked the shape so much, when she could have her pick of a million more exotic forms.

“I’m trying to think, and my ability to think has temporarily been impaired.” Llant rubbed her fingers over her temples. She stopped pacing to stare at Glo, who watched her with utter attention. “It’s these damn Klingons. We aren’t accomplishing anything, and we’re actually helping them turn this search into a party. I have confirmation, visual and graphic, of Le’Ling’s intimate affiliation with Captain Koloth. I have no confirmation of anyone even pretending to look for Cyrano Jones.” Llant took a deep breath. “It's time for the Star to go her own way.”

“Have you spoken with Le’Ling? You may worry for nothing. You know how her affairs go. New man today, new man tomorrow.”

Llant fell to her knees in front of the chair. “Old friend.” She stopped, at a loss.

“What troubles you, Gem? It isn’t Le’Ling,” Glo said, extending her hand.

“You heard about our unauthorized guests?”

“Two Klingons in engineering? Yes.”

“I sent one to the brig, took one to my quarters for questioning.” Llant reached out and touched Glo’s fingers. They intertwined with hers, too cool to be human, although Glo could mimic that as well, if she wished. “I had sex with him, Glo. Not just once.”

“Subtleties of human mating behavior still baffle me. Your attitude toward Klingons has been universally hostile in the past. I find it very surprising you had sex with one. Was it by your own choice?”

“I did it willingly, then passionately.” Llant said. “If Le’Ling feels what I feel, she’s in a hell of a lot of trouble. I think these Klingons are more dangerous in peace than war. And definitely more dangerous naked than clothed."

She shook her head, searched for the right words. “I want to spend time with him, Glo. Talk with him, show him our culture, try and understand his. I want to know what conditions create fulfillment for a Klingon . . . I’d always assumed killing was the only answer to that question. I look at him, and it feels like a phaser kick in the chest. But here is my commander taking the same path, and I have a duty to guard the best interests of my crew. If her judgment is in the same condition mine is, space help us.”

Glo looked at her for a long moment. “Recall the first, second and third males you have spoken with me about during our friendship."

“Petra. Lagos. Starr.” Llant nodded. “Difficult and wonderful men. Our conversation was slightly different in each case . . . and nothing like this, Glo.”

“In each previous relationship, you exhibited a fraction of the intensity I sense in you right now, when you speak of this Klingon. Over time I have observed that most humans eventually pair off for a long portion of their life. You may have reached that plateau. What are you looking for?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were such a tiny thing when we met." Glo folded her hands and bowed her head. "I didn't know how really _young_ you were, for a human, until much later. I was wearing a generic maleform, suited for the maintenance work I was doing at Gateway to support myself, when you caught me changing."

"I remember." Llant nodded her head. "It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. I followed you back to the Towers."

"When I left for work the next evening, there you were, this tiny human female, introducing herself as if she was a UFP Ambassador." Glo smiled. "You said, _I want to know everything about you._ "

"You asked me why," Llant said slowly. "I believe you must have thought I wanted to know what you could do, so I could use you in some way."

"Many others had tried. I might have killed you in the bushes, absorbed you and added you to my forms."

"Really? But you didn't."

"No. I made an impulsive decision, one of the best in my long life. Over the years human and Vandoriian learned about each other. You gave me family and home." Glo gestured around her simply furnished quarters. "And I added you to my forms anyway, without having to absorb you."

"I never thanked you for attending the graduation ceremony for me," Llant laughed. "That was the nicest graduation gift I could have received from anyone. Lagos and I were . . ."

"Yes," Glo waved a hand. "I never told _you_ that Dali-Bane tried to feel you up afterward."

"I'm not surprised. Where are you going with this, Glo?"

"Trust your instincts. You are still that precocious, curious, fearless Gem. If it feels right, and you want to know everything about him, don't get distracted from what your instincts tell you to do." Glo paused, then continued. "And go see Carey. If there is an external factor affecting your decision making ability, she may be able to help.”

Llant frowned. It wasn’t what she had expected. “External factor?"

Glo shrugged. "Covering all the bases, as Morgan says. While the emotions may be difficult for me to understand, there's nothing wrong with my olfactory receptors. You reek of pheromones and sex."

"Sorry." Llant felt the blush cover her cheeks.

“Don't be silly," Glo said mildly. "And child --”

“Yes?”

“I'd like to meet this Klingon.”

 

Carey was watching an autopsy on the wallscreen in med bay, mouth hanging open, forehead furrowed with concentration.

“Shut that off. Is that a Romulan? Where did you get a vid like that?”

“Dohbran trader. Cheated him to get it, too. And if I resell it to the Feds I could buy another bioshell. One of those new portable units. What’s wrong?” Carey, never slow on the uptake, was suddenly staring very hard at her captain.

“Captain’s security: medical: lock.”

Carey glanced at the spot where the H’russ monitor had just reabsorbed into the wall. “Paranoid about eavesdroppers? This is going to be good.”

“Actually, it’s not. I need a complete physical. I had sex with an unscreened partner.” It seemed best to just say it bluntly, Llant had decided on the lift ride to med bay.

“Excuse me? ” Carey shut off the autopsy vid and reached for her tricorder. “What the hell were you thinking? Don’t answer ...” she sputtered. “Yes. Elevated levels of hormones. Pheromones? Lay down.”

Llant stretched out on the diagnostic bed.

“You’ve got bruises all over. It looks like you have purple tatoos on your hips and thighs. Muscle strain in your lower back . . . You must have had a good time.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Llant said. “Take care of it and spare me the medical humor.”

“Humor? What in the hells -- your arm, you’ve been bitten!” Carey backed up and looked at her captain. “You were a willing partner, I hope?”

“Willing? Yes. I was.” Llant avoided looking directly into Carey's horrified eyes.

“You're not interested in humor, I'm not interested in evasion. You look like you’ve been in a fight. Wolfe said you took a Klingon back to your quarters. Am I supposed to believe you willingly --”

“And everyone else is going to react the same way." Llant sat up and glared. "Damn it, Carey. I had sex with him because I wanted it."

“Sex with a Klingon. An unusual choice, captain, especially for you. And you say the choice was yours. I don’t see any indication of brain damage -- just physical abuse.”

“Carey. Treat me and shut up.” The order came out with a little less force than she had intended. Llant lay back down on the bed. "Please."

Carey stepped closed to run her tricorder over Llant's legs. “I can’t find any other problems," she said, grudgingly, "but the Klingon should be examined to make sure he didn’t pick up any opportunistic microbes from you. I haven’t screened a Klingon before, should have their stats on file. This is a good chance to scan one thoroughly.”

“He’s not a specimen or lab experiment.”

“How long have we known each other?” Carey tapped a finger on her tricorder absently.

“A long time,” Llant said with resignation. The unabridged lecture was about to begin.

“Damn right, a long time. I watched you waltz through two relationships with high profile, exciting men. You knew them both for some time before the relationship became intimate. I know your reputation differs substantially from the reality of your conduct in this area, as in others. You're cautious and choosy. So we catch two Klingons in engineering, you take one back to your quarters and have sex with him. What am I missing?” she asked sarcastically. “How can I believe you wanted to have sex with a Klingon?”

Llant threw up her hands as she got to her feet. “I can’t explain it. But I can tell you candidly that I would do it again, in a heartbeat. And it’s more than sex.”

"More than sex? Analyze what you're saying. We're talking about a _Klingon_." Carey activated her tricorder again, frowning as she traced readouts. “Pheromonal levels active and exceptionally high, but would a Klingon respond to human pheromones, or provoke their manufacture? I need to test him, Llant. Get him down here. If your actions are the result of biochemical contamination, I’d better know about it.”

“Don’t you think there could be another factor?” Llant heard the agitation betrayed in her voice. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “An irrational human reason I desire him?”

“Llant. What are you thinking? You know nothing about each other. If I had suggested yesterday that you might be intimate with a Klingon, what would you have said to me? I would have been the one subjected to med scans and observation. You’re not in love with a Klingon you just met. It isn’t possible. Something else is going on.”

Llant shook her head. Carey's objections were understandable and predictable. “I’ll bring him to med bay. I almost hope you’re right. I’m not sure I can explain him to the crew.”

 

Korax stood watching the ballet of ships, moons and planet on the wallscreen. He turned as she entered, smiling and at ease.

“I need to get back to my ship. How can I make that possible for you? I don’t know where Cyrano Jones was dropped, but I can request the information, and authorization to tell you.”

“Thank you. That's a fair offer.” Llant had to make an effort not to throw herself against his chest. “I'll return you, and your companion, if you give me your word you’ll never again try to come aboard uninvited.”

“I’ll wait for your invitation, Captain Gornu.”

right.

“Gem.” Korax held her tightly, one hand mid-back, one hand against her neck. “When will I see you again?”

“Relax. I can’t breathe.”

He relaxed his grip with a growl.

“You think we should have more time together?” Llant winced at the question, but found there was no way she could keep herself from asking.

“Par’Machi -- I don’t want to leave you at all.” Korax kissed her forehead. “But they will come looking for me soon.”

“We can meet on Wrigley's. Can you take shore leave?”

“I have duties, probably a double work-unit if Koloth hasn't returned. Shall I call you from the surface?”

“Yes. I intended to get a closer look at Wrigley City.” Llant stepped away from him, reluctantly. “Before you go I need to take you to my ship’s doctor.”

“Why?”

His neck and jaw tightened. Unease. She was beginning to recognize his less obvious physical tells.

“We don’t know much about human and Klingon physiological compatibilities. Carey will check to make sure no relatively benign human virus has found Klingon chemistry to its liking.”

“Oh.” Korax considered this. “We're taught precautions and procedures to use when initiating sex with other Klingons. I've had no reason to use such advice before.”

“It won’t take long.”

They were silent in the lift.

Carey looked up from her log as they entered. “First Officer Korax? I’ve got some basic information here. Lay down, please.”

Korax complied, keeping his eyes focused on the ceiling.

“Gornu to bridge,” Wolfe’s voice summoned.

Llant stepped to Korax’ side, touched his shoulder. “I’ll leave you with Dr. Carey for a short time, then I’ll be back to take you to the transporter room. All right?”

“Yes.” Korax shut his eyes. “I’ll nap while she pries.”

“Carey -- remember our chat." Llant took in the innocent, surprised expression and shook her head. "I'm serious."

"I know you are. Get out of here and let me do my job."

 

 _CAREY: A SMALL SUGGESTION_

He didn’t look like a male that Llant would jump into bed with. Carey moved her tricorder over the Klingon’s chest, holding a hypospray palmed inconspicuously in the same hand.

“Are you relaxed?” she asked, her hand pausing near his neck.

“Yes ...”

There was the smallest whisper of sound as the spray discharged into his neck. Carey backed away, returning the hypospray to her tricorder case.

"Morgan: I need you in sick bay." Carey waited a moment, then touched the com again. "Wolfe, keep her there as long as you can."

“What now?” Morgan entered. “We caught that Klingon in engineering. What are you doing?”

“Tests.” Carey said shortly. “Stand by him and breathe for a moment.” She watched Morgan grimace and take exaggerated breaths.

“He’s kind of cute for a Klingon. I like that curly hair, _na’chauni_. Did the captain hurt him? Why is he unconscious?”

“Touch his hand.” Carey pointed the tricorder at her crewmate, compared readings with the diagnostic read-outs. “You say you think he’s cute. Would you like to have sex with him?”

Morgan dropped Korax' hand. “You've spent too much time with your autopsy vids, D.C. Do _you_ wish to have sex with him?”

“No I don’t. But someone does, to an alarming degree. I get high levels of what I believe are Klingon pheromones, but your readings are normal.” Carey shook her head. “Their readings together go off my scales. I just can’t tell if they are interacting or occurring independently due to sexual activity.”

Morgan perched on Carey’s stool, wine-dark eyes gleaming with prurient speculation. “I will phrase this as delicately as I can: Llant and this Klingon had sex?”

“Yes. And she thinks she’s in love,” Carey said tartly.

“She found sex with a Klingon to be a pleasurable exercise?” Morgan inspected Korax again, at greater length. “And she wasn't harmed?”

“Battered, bruised and bitten -- but nothing severe or permanent," Carey said. "Her level of attachment is the most troubling. I gave him a dose of seron, and I’m going to try a small amount of antyphin. The combination should function as a mild hypnotic.” Universal medications were seldom truly universal, but the literature had indicated the drugs might function predictably for Klingon biochemistry.

“You think he'll be suggestible?”

“It’s a good time to find out. I don’t have any information on Klingon response to hypnotic agents. Antyphin seems a likely choice.” Carey reapplied the hypospray to his neck. “Korax?”

The Klingon stirred slightly. “Yes?” His voice was slurred, slow.

“Do you know where you are?”

He was silent.

“Perhaps a bit more . . .” she murmured, administering another spray. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“Gem. Ask . . . take oath . . .”

Carey frowned and looked to Morgan, who shrugged. “Why did you board the Star?”

“Engine room. Par’Machi. Find Jones.”

“You can tell me where Jones is?” Had her captain already done the work here, Carey wondered.

“Don’t know . . . try to find . . .”

“When you find the information, you'll tell Captain Gornu?”

“Yes.”

Carey touched her hypo to his neck again. “He’ll wake up in about three minutes, no wiser. Better get out of here, we’ll talk about this later.”

Morgan jumped off the stool. She paused for a lengthy inspection of Korax' body. “If it wasn’t for that surly brutish-Klingon quality, he wouldn’t be totally uninteresting. Can I see him naked?”

Carey was tempted for a moment to sedate him again, but the Klingon apparel looked daunting. “No. There isn’t time.”

“Too bad.” Morgan grinned. “Llant will kill you if she finds out what you did, D.C.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to find out -- does she?” Carey observed sharply. “Now get, before she comes back.”

 

 _GORNU: FIRST PARTING_

"How is he?" Llant took in the quiet scene. Carey was seated at her station, Korax still lay with his eyes closed. Carey seemed calm, almost placid, Llant noted with inner dismay.

Korax opened his eyes and sat up. "I'm ready to leave."

“He’s fine,” Carey said. “From what I can tell, he’s in excellent health. I must caution both of you -- sex with unscreened partners is potentially life threatening.”

“Well, now we’re screened.” Llant met Carey’s stare with an increasing sense of suspicion. Carey's eyes slid away from hers. “Come with me. I’ll transport you off ship.”

Korax swung his feet onto the floor and nodded at Carey. He didn’t speak until they were in the lift. “She was concerned about you. In my experience it's unusual for subordinates to care about the physical welfare of their commander.”

“I have a fine crew, most of them are close friends. Carey is acerbic, but wise.” Llant didn’t add _sneaky_ and _devious_ to her accolade, although the words were foremost in her mind.

The lift opened into an empty transporter room. “We beamed your companion down to Wrigley's. He'll have an easier time explaining his presence there. Which is your preference? Direct to the Gr'oth, or to Wrigley's?”

“Wrigley's will be best. I don’t know who is on duty in the transporter room, and my subordinates have no affection for me . . . just an interest in assuming my position some day. If I don’t have to explain this excursion, it would be best.”

Llant stretched and kissed the side of his mouth, then moved away quickly. “I'll expect your call. We'll talk then.”

Korax moved to the transporter pad. The air shimmered, leaving only his after-image in her mind's eye.

Llant took a deep breath, then headed back to her cabin. She needed to speak with Star, to get another view of her actions from a source she valued above even Glo's judgment.

 

 _KOLTAN: IT MUST BE PAR'MACH_

“I want to know what happened.” Koltan spoke quietly from his sleeper bench. The barracks room was nearly empty, no other warriors in their vicinity. “I ran a big risk beaming you two back from the planet when you weren’t registered on leave. I can’t believe you tried to board that ship. What did you hope to accomplish?”

“Khel’s scan showed so few lifesigns on board we thought we might be able to get in and out quickly. Didn’t he tell you we hadn’t signaled for pickup?” Korax sat on his on own bench, staring without focus.

“He told me. I was still trying to decide what to do when I got your call. Koloth hasn’t checked in since before you left. Some of the men have seen him below.” There was something about Korax’ off-hand tone of voice that increasingly worried Koltan. The bitter sarcasm he had come to expect from the Gr'oth’s first officer was completely absent.

“I know. With the captain of the Tribblion. They have a sexual relationship.”

Koltan looked around wildly, hoping no one lurked just out of sight. “How do you know that, and what happened? Kash didn’t remember a thing. Said you’d been caught in engineering, and he was phasered. Why didn’t they kill you both?”

“She said not to do it again.” Korax stretched out on the sleeper.

“She? Kash said Gornu shot him. Then beamed you both to Wrigley, at different times? I don’t understand.” And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The whole incident was growing to the unpleasant, unhealthy proportions of unchecked dungi fungus.

“Tales about her are not wholly accurate.” Korax closed his eyes.

“What is she like?” Curiosity won out against Koltan's inner conviction that the less he knew about Korax’ activities, the better off he would be. “I don’t think there’s another Klingon living who has seen her in the flesh.”

“She's strong and assured of her abilities as a warrior -- but she is human, with a human’s penchant for treating serious matters rather casually. Her hair is brown and red and gold, the color of live fire. She has skin like fine _targh_ suede, breasts that are hard yet soft, with nipples the color of redberries . . .”

“Breasts! Korax!” Koltan tumbled off his sleeper. “What in the hells have you been doing?”

“Learning that sex with a human woman is both possible and preferable to sex with a Klingon woman.”

“You are insane." Koltan searched Korax' face for any suggestion that the conversation was an enormouse, inappropriate jest. "You expect me to believe you had sex with Llant’Gornu, captain of the Takka’aq Dorg, warbird killer, _sheld’kaj_?”

“Yes. And I plan on doing it again.”

“Were you tortured? You must be hallucinating, or drugged.” Koltan pulled at his mustache in distraction. “I could take you to the medic, but they would throw you in the brig if you repeated that story.”

“I don’t need medical attention. I put my name in queue for shore leave. After the next duty cycle, I will meet her below," Korax said.

“Korax, you must realize this can only be a fantastic delusion.”

“Fantastic. Yes, it was. Don’t worry.” Korax sighed and stretched. “I need to sleep.”

Koltan sat on his sleeper, waiting as the pattern of Korax’ breathing changed. Nothing about his comrade's story made sense. Koloth and a human woman? Korax and a human woman? The universe had gone completely mad, something that seemed to happen any time humans were involved with Klingons. He left the barracks room quietly. Kash was going tell him, once more, everything the two of them had seen and done on the Star.

 

“I can’t see!”

Koltan quieted Khel with a punch that staggered him backwards. He moved slightly so Khel could wedge between him and Kash. The elevated walkway overlooking the walled garden where Korax waited had a thick mass of tree branches obscuring their view of the rendezvous site.

“I still don’t believe that Korax and Captain Gornu . . .”

“Kash. Be still, or I will rip out your tongue.”

It was incontestibly a human woman who entered the garden. She wore coveralls, and no indication of rank that Koltan could see. But she moved with lithe, aggressive confidence.

“It's her,” Kash breathed.

The figures in the garden stood for a moment, looking at each other. Korax extended his hand and the woman closed the distance between them with what might have been attacking speed.

“Shaitan’s stones.”

Koltan wondered which of them had spoken. The sight of the Gr'oth’s first officer kissing the human female was astounding for many reasons, not the least of which was the apparent enthusiasm of the woman. When the kiss ended, she pulled Korax into the garden's pavilion, and out of view.

“He was telling the truth.” Koltan backed out of the screen of tree limbs onto the walkway.

“What do we do now?” Kash asked.

“What can we do? I think it is par’Mach. He is insane to pursue her. I hope he enjoys this last experience.” Koltan brushed leaves from his uniform. “I suggest a drink before we return to the ship. And seriously consider how Korax’s insanity will affect our futures if we don't report on him.”

“I think he is,” Khel spoke for the first time since they’d beamed down to Wrigley’s. “Enjoying himself. Although I know nothing about human women, I don't think she was hauling him into that pavilion to question or torture him.”

“I wouldn't mind getting tortured like that.”

Koltan cuffed Kash again, a solid blow to the back of the head. “Recall the stupidity of that remark when Korax is disemboweled and dying. Both of you be quiet, and let me think.”


	5. Chapter 5

_GORNU: WRIGLEY'S_

Korax examined the pavilion’s interior, his body language betraying discomfort.

“What is it?” Llant found she watched his every move, every expression, greedy for greater understanding of this alien warrior she had welcomed into her bed and body. Her heart still raced from the moment she had seen him waiting in the garden, from the relief and exhilaration she found in his greeting kiss.

“I'm not sure.” Korax said slowly. “Like your quarters, this luxury is far removed from a warrior's existence.”

Thinking it over, Llant saw a logic to his view. Klingon ships must be extremely utilitarian for the simplicity of the pavilion to register as luxury. “I admit my quarters are soft, as you say. But this seems quite modest to me.”

“You are also a luxury.”

"It's good to be here with you." Llant led him to the wide, cushioned bench that ran the length of the pavilion. “The time passed too slowly.” She touched his mustache and traced his mouth with her fingertip. “We should talk.”

“Talk?” His eyebrows raised over half-closed eyes. A deep sound rumbled in his chest. “How is it possible to feel this way and live? You outrank me. You are wealthy, accustomed to a life I have never imagined could exist. A human warrior, who has killed many of my people. Yet I touch you, and you come into my arms . . .”

Llant relaxed against him, felt his mouth moving in her hair. The simple contact seemed to ease a tenseness she had barely acknowledged. “There was no reprisal because of your absence? I was concerned. My own crew feels my behavior is odd, what yours might think worried me.”

“I told Koltan. He's one of the few I might trust. He thinks I'm insane.” Korax eased her uniform over her shoulder, brushing his mouth over bare skin. “But I'm not. After much thought I have come to believe this is one of those rare occurrences we name _Shaitan’s luck_. It was destiny that brought me to your ship, destiny that let us touch.”

“Shaitan's luck. I’ve always been extraordinarily lucky. It seems I still am.” Small, warm shocks of sensation followed the path of his mouth. Llant carefully pulled her uniform back into place. “My crew not only thinks I’m behaving abnormally, they’re ready to put me under medical restraint. Star says there's nothing wrong with me, except I'm human." Llant laughed, remembering her abnormally short conversation with Star, and the ship's admonition to appreciate an obviously fulfilling experience for what it was. "I admit to having some doubts of my own. If you were _human_ , my response would be unusual.”

“Lengthy courtships are rare with us, and usually due to family arrangements. It's not unusual for a Klingon couple to meet, express attraction and pair. Sometimes they make the relationship permanent, sometime it is a more informal arrangement,” Korax said. “Many Klingon pairings are still arranged between families. Many occur between couples who meet in the course of their duties. There are far more men than women, and superior females have value. If you were a Klingon female, I would have to fight many other warriors to win the chance to court you.”

“So what happened between us would not be regarded as odd -- by another Klingon.” She felt the vibration in his chest, evidently an all-purpose Klingon comment.

“If you were Klingon the answer would be: no. But you are human, and if Koltan’s response is a marker, our pairing will be regarded as very odd indeed. I'm more concerned about your reservations than the outrage of my comrades.”

Llant turned to meet his eyes. “I have questions, but no reservations.”

“Par'Machi.” Korax touched her face, his fingers hot against her skin. “You know why I boarded your ship. Our security analyst told us there were only ten crew members on your ship, and your shields were down. A ship that size, we believed, had to carry many more crew. We thought they were on shore leave, and your people were in as much disorder as ours. We know very little about the H’russ, but your cloaking abilities have always been coveted by our engineers.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Llant said. The fact he was willing to explain his behavior made her want to rip his tunic off and finish the conversation at a later time. She prevented herself from following that course of action by an act of conscious will.

“Koloth has been off the Gr'oth since we arrived, and even the most hardened warriors clamor for leave below. Kash and I decided to attempt this foolish thing, board the Star and try and learn something of value.”

“You're a warrior.” Her will was evaporating. She began unfastening the hidden closures to his tunic.

“I discovered something far more valuable than new cloaking technology.” His hands traced the curve of her hips. “Perhaps we could talk later?”

Llant nodded. His fingers reinforced the suggestion that touch was better than talk. “How do Klingons court, show affection? You've learned human social gestures -- may I learn some of yours?”

“Your skills at showing affection are far superior. I would hesitate to interfere with your natural ability. Let me show you how a courting couple would greet each other.” He carried her wrist to his face, touched his lips to her palm and took a deep, deliberate breath. "I would recognize the scent of you anywhere."

“Klingon foreplay.” Llant shivered. “Not an area of cultural knowledge I ever expected to acquire."

“Stop talking.” He made a more successful attempt at removing her tunic.

“Growling and biting are better?” Llant ran her lips over his forearm and heard his indrawn breath. "I would recognize the scent of you, anywhere."

“Are you still talking?" He stopped her mouth with his.

Structured thought became instinct. A fierce, hungry ache in her chest demanded contact with his skin, demanded she touch and take him.

"A useful custom." Korax moved his mouth down her neck. "Kissing stops talking."

 

 _KORAX: WIFE_

It was a very strange thing, Korax thought. He had never felt more alert, more relaxed, more fit, more completely a Klingon warrior than he did laying tangled around a naked human female. Sex with Llant'Gornu was what he thought victory in battle, fighting with Kahless himself, would probably feel like.

“Gem. There is a thing Klingons do when they mate. It is a verbal ritual, it would mean nothing to a human,” Korax chose his words carefully. He could feel his hearts race at the urgency he felt to proceed with his decision to speak. “But it would do me great honor if you would speak it with me.”

“A ritual?” Llant pushed onto one side, examined his face. “This is a Klingon custom?”

“Yes. An acknowledgment of mutual attraction and appreciation. Whatever you choose, I will understand.” He tried not to hold his breath as she considered.

“If it's important to you, and you think it appropriate, I'm willing.”

Korax sat up and took her hand in a tight grip. He pulled her into a sitting position.

“ _jIH dok_.” He held her scent, her image in his mind as he said the words. “You reply -- _maj dok_.”

She made no protest, although his fingers must have been holding hers with crushing force. Korax relaxed his grip as he felt her hands flex.

“ _maj dok_.”

Korax raised her wrist to his mouth. “Together we speak: _tlinghan jIH_.”

There was a look of profound trust in her eyes that turned in his gut like a knife. She leaned toward him.

“ _tlinghan jIH._ ” The words left his lips in a deep growl of sound. Llant's voice was barely a whisper.

Korax held her for a long time, and neither of them spoke. Finally he sighed and lay back to look at the ceiling abstractedly. She was his, he thought, surprised by a euphoric welling of emotion that nearly eclipsed the passionate response his body had experienced with her. By Klingon law, regardless of what might happen, she was his wife.

But the wonder of this was eclipsed by harsh reality.

“I know these moments will be few and I accept that.” Korax tried to keep his voice unemotional, factual. “The Gr'oth will leave Wrigley's soon, your comrades will go in a different direction, and we must both resume our duties.”

“Korax?” Llant looked down at him, her fingers splayed over his hearts. “I won’t say goodbye so easily. I'll find a way. The Council is no longer actively warring with the Federation.”

She was a warrior. Korax could see the import of his words sinking in.

“Warbirds have no permanent dock.” His words were blunt, uncompromising.

“That sounds like a Klingon axiom.” Agitation was evident in her face and voice. “I’d know what a human man meant if he made that observation. Is this what you see for us? To enjoy this time, then bid me farewell when the Gr'oth departs? To never see me again?”

 _To never see her again._ Even the Grahar could create no greater torture.

Korax sat up and grabbed her shoulders. “My wish is to keep you by my side for the rest of my life. My wish is . . .” he stopped the fierce words with great effort, took her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “We won’t speak of this, now. We're together, and should use this time wisely.”

There was nothing soft about her against his hands. Every muscle was taut. Korax felt her take a deep breath and exhale. Elasticity returned to her body.

“What shall we do then, on this marvelous planet?” She trailed her fingers across his ribs, over his stomach.

“Something else . . . for a while.” Korax captured her fingers and closed them tightly in his hand. “Poker and whiskey? Dining and music? K’eld-sha boxing?”

“Can you be seen with me?”

“I'm a Klingon warrior, not a sneaking Romulan. Koloth and Le’Ling have been everywhere together. Other Klingons court human females in Wrigley’s cabarets. It may not be prudent, but prudence is not a Klingon trait. I shall be proud to have you at my side.”

“Then let’s try the casino. With the best imaginations aboard the Tribblion and the Enterprise to draw on, Wrigley's should have come up with a great facility.” Llant rolled off the lounge and spoke to the replicator. “Catalog screen on. Womens clothing.”

Korax watched the measured procession of holographic images over her shoulder.

“That . . . and that,” her fingers selected what she wanted. “Now mens apparel. Do you want to choose, or shall I? Having gotten you out of that uniform, I’m not so eager to let you back in it.”

“Imprudence is one thing -- being out of uniform another.”

“Too bad. I was thinking of black leather and velvet . . .” Llant finalized the order. Neatly folded garments dropped from the replicator.

Korax rummaged in his heap of uniform. He found the small box in his discarded tunic. “For you.”

“What is it?” Llant eased a green-black sheath over her hips, and adjusted the sleeveless bodice. She looked surprised at the sight of the box in his extended hand.

“For some reason the design made me think of you. It wasn't costly, but seems well-made. I don't understand. I've never given such a gift . . .”

Llant held the box, searching his eyes, then opened it. The ear-stud was a stylized spray, set with tiny balls of naturally opalescent quartz. "This is lovely. I’ll wear it with pleasure.”

“Here.” Korax took it from her and fixed it to her ear. Her scent hit him low in the stomach, turned his blood to fire. He kissed her neck, her shoulder. “Gem . . . you are indeed. Ke’tha, ke’san . . . par'Machi . . .” _My heart, my breath. My wife._

She shivered as her dress slid to the floor. “What does it take to tire you out?”

“Let me show you.” He picked her up and carried her back to the pavilion's bench.

 

 _KOLTAN: FOREBODING_

“Khel! Look!” Koltan poked his comrade’s attention away from a vidscreen k’eld-sha match.

“What?” Khel grunted, still focused on the boxers.

“They’re here. Together.”

Kash’s eyes quickly surveyed the casino floor. “Where? Oh. By the hells, that’s a dangerous looking female.”

“Why do smooth foreheads on human men look like deformations, but don’t appear so strange on their women?” Koltan mused. “How can a partially clothed female look dangerous?" He considered his words, and ruefully brushed his fingers over his own forehead. Llant'Gornu moved like a warrior, confident, aware. "She does look hard and soft at the same time. I can almost see why Korax finds her attractive.”

“Can you see why she’s attracted to him? Korax is only an average warrior, no special talents or abilities. He works hard, but has little sense of humor or imagination. Why would a human woman seek a relationship with him?” Kash’s question was full of undisguised worry.

“There’s a lot we don’t know about humans,” Koltan said. “He claims sex with her is the only worthwhile sex he's ever experienced.”

Khel snorted. “Did Korax ever have sex before? Any willing female would have altered his appreciation of the exercise.”

“You didn’t hear his voice, it’s more than sex. See their faces when they look at each other.” Koltan watched them laughing over a d’abo game. “They look oath-sworn. He’s proud of her!”

“She’s human!” Khel was offended. “Humans are more casual about mating. No Klingon warrior could find that depth of commitment in another species."

“How do you know?” An unsettling vista of imagined behaviors teased at Koltans mind; Gornu was at the center of each scenario, but distressingly indistinct once his imagination tried to remove that piece of cloth she wore.

“If she mated with Korax, she must be pretty casual about partners.”

Koltan’s hand shot out, but Khel moved out of range with the speed of long practice. “I don’t agree. I think there’s more between them. She has nothing to gain by publicly displaying such an alliance.”

“And Korax could lose his life in disgrace for consorting with a _sheld’kaj_.” Khel filled their mugs with blood wine. “The unknown variable here is the length of time remaining before the Klingon High Council weighs in with their opinion on the validity of the relationship.”

“You speculate too much. Order more wine.” Koltan drained his mug then looked around the casino. “The woman with violet skin and purple eyes. Not human -- I wonder where she’s from . . .”

 

 _GORNU: OPERA APPRECIATION 101_

“This is an amazing planet. They’ve reproduced the amphitheater on Fleissa.”

They stood in the dark, under the stars. Reverberating bass music thundered in the distance. Llant stared up at the pale shell of building in front of them. The replica of the Roman coliseum back on Earth came immediately to mind.

“Fleissa is our oldest colony. Many of our artists live there. I think the opera is _Kahless eyt Lucara_.” Korax listened. “Yes. They're nearing the close of act two.” His eyes glinted as he grinned at her. “It is the best part of the opera. Let's watch the remainder of the act.”

The swell of music expanded as they followed a long corridor that terminated on an amphitheater terrace. Llant drew a deep, involuntary breath at the savage splendor of the pageant below. She was marginally aware that spectators, a mix of Klingons and others, were seated and standing on the terraces above them. Several tiers above, the stone benches were replaced by roofed stone boxes containing two to six individual seats. Warriors leaned over the edge of of these boxes, fists pounding against the stone, singing along with the actors below.

The semicircular stage was close enough to see wet redness from blood that spattered the male and female Klingons who faced each other across a field of rubble and smoke. Tattered banners draped the rock behind them; about their feet bodies lay strewn in realistic poses of death.

“Let's go up.” Korax led her up the stairs to an unoccupied boxed seating area.

They stood at the rear of the box. Llant moved into his arms, leaning back against his chest. “It’s fierce, and beautiful. You’ll tell me the whole story?”

“He is Kahless the Unforgettable, our first emperor. She is Lucara. Together they slew 500 warriors in bloody battle.” Korax began to sing softly in a deep tenor, in harmony to Kahless’ bass. The Klingons on the stage moved toward each other, and the female took the lead with a powerful, pure contralto.

“Are they wearing some kind of head gear?” Llant tried to focus on the oddly shaped foreheads of the singers. Protective battle gear, she wondered, or ornamentation?

“No.” Korax quit singing. His arms tightened.

Lucara had taken Kahless' hand. She licked blood from his fingers as the music faded to a thread of sound.

A shudder moved through Korax' body. "What?" She tried to turn in his arms.

“Be still.” Korax began to sing again, joining the thundering bass that vibrated the stone under their feet. Kahless stepped away, and in a movement almost too fast to follow, Lucara had a wicked looking knife poised against his throat.

The music faded into an ominous silence that stretched to fill the amphitheater.

“ _Hath ei ne’kkli, Kahless -- shach’ha t’gHo!_ ” Lucara sang, an a capella command.

Kahless took the knife from Lucara, and threw it aside. They embraced fiercely, falling entwined to the darkening stage.

“What did she say?” Llant whispered.

“She tells Kahless he must take her, or die.”

This time, Korax let her turn in his arms. “A woman after my own heart,” she murmured, filled with ferocious joy. “And it sounds like good advice, warrior.”

Music boomed again from the stage as the few remaining lights diminished to smoky darkness.

“Take me,” Llant demanded, "or one of us will certainly die."

The wisdom in her choice of dress was immediately confirmed by the speed with which it rolled up around her waist. Llant braced herself against the back of the box as he entered her with a growl that disappeared in the continued thunder of music. She pushed back against him, singing her own wordless song.

 

 _MORGAN: SURVEILLANCE REPORT_

Morgan blinked at the unpleasant brightness of the bridge as she left the lift. Wolfe glanced around with a withering glare Morgan decided was less about her than life in general.

“You look dissipated, Morgan. And you're limping. Dance too much at the casino?” Kern briefly inspected her crewmate, then turned her attention back to the H’russ panels.

“Early watch never agrees with me, Kalliste. And yes, I had sufficient sleep -- barely -- and I'm prepared for duty.” Morgan yawned hugely, ignoring Kern's other observations. “Again, barely. Who else is on?”

The lift opened again and Allallu joined them.

Wolfe left the Captain’s chair, stretched. “Allallu has the com. At least _she_ looks trustworthy. What were you doing on Wrigley's last night?”

“I followed Llant most of the time.” Morgan inspected her fingernails critically, deciding how to edit her evening's activities.

“It can't be good if you have to decide what you're going to tell me.” Wolfe glared. “What’s the captain been doing?”

Morgan exchanged seats with Kern. “ _At’Krie e’ txchua_ ...”

“Speak standard,” Wolfe reproved. “Even Star can’t translate that trash you speak. And yes, I know she’s been playing on Wrigley's. She's earned a break, we’ve been working hard lately.”

“WIthout doubt. But do you know who she’s been playing with? Male, dark curling hair, rather gorgeous brown eyes, beard and mustache, built like a brick erection . . .”

“Klingon!” It jolted out of Allallu first. “I don’t believe it.”

“ _Klem’shak_ ,” Wolfe muttered, ignoring her own advice. “The one we caught in engineering. Where did you see them?”

“Everywhere. Playing poker. Dining at the reproduction of the Vra’Ton. Drinking and wagering on d’abo and k’eld-sha. Enjoying each other’s company very much. They make a striking couple, and Llant made the lighting look dim. Remember what she looked like just after she and Starr melded?” Morgan’s eyes traveled over her comrades. “Well she’s glowing even brighter now. Most of Wrigley's was watching. I know three other Klingons were. I was following them, following her. They drank a good deal, and looked very unhappy.”

The part of the story about getting herself picked up by Koltan and satisfying her curiosity about naked Klingons and their behavior during sexual intercourse could wait for another day, Morgan decided without _any_ internal debate. She was still processing the collected data, although a greater understanding of Llant's behavior had immediately been achieved.

“If this conversation falls under the confines of security -- and I would hate to think you are gossiping,” Kern warned, “then you should report this to the Captain."

“She would have noticed on her own, if her mind hadn't been temporarily relocated,” Morgan complained. “I'll let her know.”

“Good watch, then. Coming, Wolfe?”

“In a minute. I want to talk to Morgan.”

Kern nodded incuriously and left the bridge.

“What is it, Randy? Morgan?” Allallu looked between them. “I may not find the thought of," she made a face, "keeping company with a Klingon palatable, but Llant dislikes Klingons more than most of us. If she’s spending time with one, she must have a reason.”

“Keeping company? Another archaic euphemism for my collection. Thank you.” Morgan laughed. “Our captain . . .” she began to run through her system checks on the panels. “Llant'Gornu acts out life. She is a superb gamesplayer and tactician. I have watched her dance diplomats to their undoing, dicker merchants out of fortunes. For all the men she has loved, she displays a cheerfully savage panache that has always made me wonder what she really keeps close to her heart.”

“Star,” Wolfe said. Her dark face was tense with worry.

“Yes. Star is her heart. But last night --” Morgan looked full into Wolfe’s eyes. “I saw an expression that -- _pri’avera m’deu_ \-- makes me think she is not acting with this Klingon. They talk to each other with their eyes. Ling’s Betazoid engineer nearly passed out when they left the casino.”

“Llant in love with a Klingon?” Wolfe bit her lip. “I'd call you crazy, except yours is the second diagnosis. I’ll talk to Carey again."

Strident noise filled the bridge as warning lights danced.

“Spirit of space!” Allallu was out of the Captain's chair like a shot, surrendering the com to Wolfe.

“Talk to me Morgan!” Wolfe sank her fingers into the armrest. _Star?_

“Warbird. Everybody out of bed.” Morgan hit the shipwide alarm.

 _Shaitan's Arm. Call her._

“Star, show us.”

Morgan looked up as the warbird filled the wallscreen. “Somehow I don't think Kor is here for shore leave.”


	6. Chapter 6

_GORNU: SECOND PARTING_

A repetitive noise woke Llant from a deep, comfortable sleep. Her communicator was chiming with the rapid tone that signaled a red alert. She slid out from under heavy arms and legs.

“Gornu. What is it?”

“We’re on red, Captain.” Wolfe’s voice was crisp. “Shaitan’s Arm is in orbit around Wrigley's. Time for you to beam up.”

“Kor. Not good. Give me a few minutes, I’ll signal.” Llant bent over Korax. “Wake up, love.” The word was spoken before she could consider its importance.

Korax stirred, opened his eyes. He smiled, reaching for her.

“Kor’s here.”

" _ghuy'cha'_ " Korax rolled from the bench. “What in all the hells is Kor doing here?”

“Unfortunately, we’ll probably find out fairly quickly. I have to return to the Star. And you’d better get back to the Gr'oth.”

Korax paused in the motion of fastening his uniform together. “Gem.” He swept her into his arms, kissed her with relentless thoroughness. “What a wonderful night. I never thought my life would include such an experience, that I'd have such a night to recall. For the pleasure, for your company, for each memory . . . all will be treasured.”

Llant wound his hair around her fingers and pulled, not too gently. “I plan to enjoy many more such nights with you.”

“I'll find a way to see you before we go.”

Something in the way he held his body, something in his careful use of words unsettled her.

“You certainly will.” Her communicator chimed again. She finished dressing quickly. “Soon,” she promised, standing on her toes and kissing his mouth.

He held her tightly, for a long silent minute. Then he whispered something in Klingon against her lips and let her go. His face and eyes were expressionless as he stepped away.

Llant touched her com. “Bring me home, Star.”

 

 _KORAX: SECOND PARTING_

Korax watched the shimmer of transporter effect fade and disappear. _Kor._ He would never see her again.

He finished straightening his uniform, looked around the pavilion until found his own communicator. It had fallen from his tunic and been kicked under the bench. “Korax to ship. Bring me aboard.”

The look on the warrior’s face when he materialized on the Gr'oth’s pad told him everything he needed to know, and gave his vanity an unexpected boost. There was raw admiration, mixed with horror, in the look. “Captain Koloth says to immediately present yourself.”

“On my way.”

It was almost amusing. The same look transporter personnel had given him was mirrored in the faces he passed in the corridors.

“You fool.” Koloth exploded before he was all the way through the door. The Gr'oth’s captain paced his ready room, hands clenched tightly behind his back. “She’s considered a trophy for her part in the Caliban colony disaster. Any Klingon warrior might legally challenge her. Yet you are seen by an entire planet, escorting her, fondling her -- instead of dueling her. What were you thinking?”

“I was following my captain’s example,” Korax said. “Your own choice of female companionship might be considered unconventional, and your public behavior far more demonstrative.”

“Le’Ling is not a Klingon war criminal!” Koloth shouted the rebuke. “She may be many things, but her name is not _sheld’kaj_.”

“Llant’Gornu may be _sheld’kaj_ , but it was honorably earned. Klingons have killed humans, she has killed Klingons. She fought as a warrior and triumphed. There is no dishonor for an alien to be named _sheld’kaj_.” As he said the words Korax realized he completely believed what he had said.

“Well there is no honor for a warrior in taking such a mate,” Koloth sneered. “Kor is out there. He's demanding answers. Why is the Enterprise and Gr'oth here? The Tribblion and Takka’aq Dorg? Three Klingon freighters have disappeared recently, close to this area. The council diverted him here to find answers. He’s not in a good mood, Korax.”

“Kor is never in a good mood, he was born with a burr between his toes.” Korax was unapologetic. “If freighters have disappeared, why weren’t we informed?”

“They didn’t tell me about the freighters,” Koloth admitted, “but the council wanted to know why the Enterprise was hanging around this part of space, near Klingon shipping routes.”

“They suspect the Federation?”

“I don’t think so.” Koloth resumed his pacing. “But they hate the Enterprise, and in truth, I think fear Kirk's unpredictability. The Tribblion is suspect because she is Federation registry. The Takka’aq Dorg is nothing but a target. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kor tries to take her.”

“They're still in orbit, shields raised. I don’t think they fear Kor.” With a growing sense of pride, Korax felt sure Gem Gornu could hold her own against Kor.

“Well, what would you know about that?” Koloth asked with vicious emphasis. “The only known H’russ ship in the universe. Not only doesn’t she fear a Klingon warbird, she has one kill to her credit.”

“I know nothing about the Star. But Llant’Gornu is a warrior.”

“You do seem in a position to know more about her than any other Klingon,” Koloth managed to make leering innuendo drip from the words.

The communicator shrilled, forestalling any answer.

“Yes?” Koloth bellowed. “What is it?”

“Kor signals. Prepare for transmission.”

The viewscreen filled with Kor’s stern face. One eye seemed to be twitching. “Koloth! You idiot! I want you here immediately. And that first officer of yours -- place him under arrest.”

The screen went blank.

“As I said, he’s not in a good mood. Place yourself under arrest. Consider yourself lucky. I have to face Kor.”

It was still early, Korax thought cynically as he left the ready room. Plenty of time for him to end up where Koloth was going.

“How bad is it?” Koltan spoke under his breath as Korax passed him on the bridge.

“I’m under arrest,” Korax said. “And Koloth has been summoned to Shaitan’s Arm.”

“H'ley awa!” Koltan breathed. “Am I supposed to lock you up?”

“Unless you want to join me eventually,” Korax shook his head. “I wish I understood what was behind this. Koloth says freighters have disappeared. Why have we heard nothing?”

Koltan followed him into the lift. “I don’t know. But if it’s council politics, we’re as good as dead.”

The lift surged, slowed and opened its door. Two warriors stepped forward.

“First Officer Korax?”

“Yes?” Korax did not recognize the men. They were unaltered warriors whose eyes touched the smooth line of his own forehead with unconcealed disdain.

“We’ll take him.”

“Who are you?” Koltan demanded.

“Shaitan’s Arm: Vendki, Kintyth. We are instructed to examine him. We will use your facilities. Since your captain and your first are being detained, you may inform your second he is to assume command.”

Koltan nodded, stepped back into the elevator with a look of farewell that made Korax shrug and grin involuntarily. He winced as Vendki’s fist connected with the back of his head.

“You find this situation amusing, warrior? Perhaps there are things we can do to help you understand the gravity of your actions . . .”

 

 _KOR: WHAT IN THE HELLS?_

“Explain to me, Koloth, so I will understand this mystery.” Kor was in full voice.

"A simple errand ends at a notorious planet in the company of a notorious Federation starship, a ship of suspected civil criminals and the _sheld’kaj_ Gornu and her cursed ship. And what is the Gr'oth doing? Encouraging its officers to enjoy shore leave, consort with the most undesirable alien females . . . and its captain? What is your relationship with this smuggler you are seen with, day and night? And its first officer, apparently intimate with the notorious human Gornu? What in the hells has been going on here, Koloth? And why should I not kill you immediately?” Kor’s voice thundered off the walls as he finished the tirade.

Koloth shrugged. “We were following orders. Keep track of the Enterprise, investigate any extraordinary traffic in the area. That was it! We followed orders!”

“Did anyone order you to investigate the physical compatibilities of Klingon/human pairings? That’s all I hear: Klingon warriors and human female partners. How can you stand to touch those hideous, undeveloped creatures? Something is wrong here, Koloth. I suspect some kind of manipulation.” Kor touched a control on his desk. Two warriors entered. “Take him, examine him. Report quickly.”

“We have a preliminary report on Gr'oth's First Officer Korax. Permission is sought to use the mindsifter on him.”

“Granted.” Kor held up his hand to delay their departure. He wanted Koloth to hear the report as well. “And the preliminary report indicates?”

“Evidence of an unknown hypnotic agent, erratic biochemical readings, unusual responses to normal stimulation and questioning. Undoubtedly the first officer has been tampered with.”

“Finish interrogation. Submit a more detailed report.” Kor banged his desk with his fist. “Humans. Damn them to all the hells.”

“Captain?” the intercom signaled.

“Yes?”

“Council member Dhel. Priority one. On viewer.”

Kor straightened. “Dhel. What now?”

“We know who is behind the freighter disappearances. We have new contact with a race of scavengers who are responsible. You are needed at Fleeisa.”

“What shall I do about Koloth?”

“Has he been engaged in criminal activity?”

Kor glared at Koloth, who hardly looked chastened or apologetic. “He has been egregiously stupid. I define that as criminal.”

“We will address Koloth at a later date. New orders are being transmitted to the Gr'oth, you won’t have to worry about him.”

“The human woman Gornu is here,” Kor snarled.

“ _Sheld’kaj_? Too bad, you won’t have time to kill her. She would be a remarkable trophy for you.”

“She has been tampering with Klingon personnel.”

“Shaitan’s Arm?” Dhel looked startled.

“No. Gr'oth.” Kor found his urge to strike Koloth so overwhelming he had to pound the table, a gesture that brought him little satisfaction.

“Execute all such personnel. And come at once.” Dhel’s face faded.

Kor punched his intercom with force. “Bridge. Lay in course back to Fleeisa. Be prepared to initiate.” Kor turned the full scope of his indignation on Koloth. “You have Shaitan’s own luck, Koloth. But your first has none. You heard Dhel’s order.”

Koloth nodded sharply. “Execute all personnel Captain Gornu has tampered with.”

“Good. Get out of my sight.”

 

 _KORAX: MINDSIFTER_

Restrained in the chair, Korax watched as the mindsifter rolled smoothly downward from its ceiling cowl. In spite of his stoic exterior, he could feel his body temperature dropping.

“We have evidence of biochemical alteration. What can you tell us about its source?” The hard voice came from the darkness of the sifter control booth.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“We know about your disgusting activities with the _sheld’kaj_ Gornu. What did she ask you, what have you told her?” A low hum of came from an invisible control panel.

“Told her?” Pain galvanized his body in a great surge. Something with razor talons was ripping the nerves out of his body through his eyes. Korax thought he’d been prepared for pain, but there was no referent for the agony, no possible way to prepare for a sensation that reached beyond flesh into his conscious mind.

“What did you tell her about the Gr'oth. About the Klingon High Council? About homeworld? About our goals and daily routines? What did she ask?”

“She asked nothing . . .” Every molecule of his being pulsed with shock. Colors stabbed through him like heated serrated blades.

“We see the lies. Tell us.”

“She was . . . looking for Cyrano Jones. Nothing else. She was not interested . . . in Klingon secrets.” Korax tried to control his breathing, to speak normally in spite of the pain.

“She was interested in you? Why? What could she possibly find to interest her? A mid-level Klingon warrior, no prospect of real advancement. Physically you are Klingon. Why would a human woman participate in a relationship with you? They view us as predatory animals.”

“I don’t know.” Korax clenched his teeth to stop from screaming. “It just happened.”

“Medical scans show you have been exposed to alien drugs, hypnotic agents, possibly biochems. What were your instructions?” The low hum of power to the sifter began to rise in volume.

“Not . . . instructed . . .” White light filled his head, and agony pulsed like lava through every nerve in his body. The conversation with Carey in med bay began to focus from the depths of his mind. She had given him some drug, talked with him.

“Tell Gornu . . . where Jones could be found . . .” He couldn’t prevent the words from escaping.

“So they sent you back to spy on your own ship after conditioning you to respond to this human female.”

“No!” Korax writhed under the invisible needles, probing his mind and emotions. “Spoke the oath. She is my wife.”

Somewhere in the dark a warrior laughed cruelly.

“Oath-joined to a _sheld’kaj_ human? You must realize how deranged that claim is. What could a human see in you but a potential tool? You proved susceptible to their drugs and her manipulations. Your wife,” the voice held a thick sneer. “ _Sheld’kaj_ Gornu kills Klingons. What do you have to offer her that is so special she would forget her warrior code and join with her enemy? Human females like their own males, weak and easily manipulated. Are you such a male? And how could a Klingon warrior betray his honor with an alien female? Were your hearts altered when they altered your appearance?”

Korax gasped for air, blind from the pain in his head and the sweat that poured from his skin. He could feel his hearts vibrating as if his body might shatter into pieces. “... my wife ...” He tried to reject the surety in the voice from the dark.

“She used you. She cares nothing for you. You have no history of interest in -- or to! -- females. Ask yourself why this sudden obsession? Why would you desire this smooth-faced, alien female? You have been tampered with, drugged by our enemies for purposes of espionage. You can regain your honor by telling us all you know of her. Then you may die quickly, as befits a warrior.”

Korax struggled against the sifter’s restraints, unable to answer the accusations, or form coherent thought. The pain and suggested betrayal burned into his consciousness as the machine intensified his mental activity.

 _she used you she used you she used you_

For an eternity he was alone with the emptiness, the pain and loss. Then, mercifully, the pressure disappeared and, with a fleeting sensation of shame, he welcomed the silence.

 

“Korax. Korax, can you wake up?”

The voice was low and familiar, furtive. Korax heard the hiss of a hypospray and felt himself swim back toward awareness. He gasped, choked. His head was pounding, and every muscle in his body felt stretched and shredded.

“Please wake up. I don’t know how high they had the sifter before they were called back. Are you still able to speak?”

Korax opened his eyes with an effort, squinted at Koltan’s apprehensive face. “I feel terrible,” he growled.

“Thank Kahless. At least you still have your mind.” Relief lifted Koltan's low tones. “Kor’s inquisitors seldom leave a job unfinished. They were called back to Shaitan’s Arm. And Koloth has been returned to the Gr'oth. I don’t know anything else -- except you are still under arrest, and in the med bay.”

Korax closed his eyes again, tensing his wrists against the restraints. “They said I had been drugged and used as a tool in attempted espionage. They said she . . .” He couldn't say any more. The pain stabbed again, as if he were back under the sifter.

 _Llant'Gornu. What a fool he had been._

“As if the sifter weren’t enough, if you’re wondering why you’re feeling rotten -- Kor’s thugs shot you full of their own concoctions, to counteract whatever they gave you on the Star. Your med scans are registering peculiar and unhealthy levels. And that universal antidote they finished off with is little more than another poison.”

The wall com buzzed, sending a blade-sweep of pain through his head. Koltan’s face disappeared.

“I have to get back to my station. New orders are coming through.”

“Where’s the med tech?”

“I don’t know. No one was here when I looked in. We’re still picking up shore leave stragglers.” Koltan touched his shoulder. “I’ll check back later.”

Korax forced himself to open his eyes. Med bay was deserted. He flexed his wrists again, pushing, twisting, feeling the flesh of his arm tear against the metal. A rivet popped, and he soon had both hands free.

What should he do? Korax squinted through waves of pain that blurred the double-image his eyes were sending his brain.

 _I said I would see her before we left._

Korax left med bay cautiously, staggering slightly. The single crewman he passed showed no interest in him. He found a lift just before he fell to his knees. “Auxiliary transporter.”

The motion of the lift intensified the nausea in his gut. He pulled himself upright as the doors opened. As he expected, the auxiliary transporter room was empty. He checked the controls, set coordinates for Wrigley's, then stumbled to the pad.

He materialized near the pavilions where they had stayed the evening before. It was dark around Wrigley City, and quieter than the last time he had been there, although cool winds still brought sounds of laughter from the gardens. He walked until he found a pavilion with the soft light that signaled vacancy.

Lights pulsed on as he entered. He activated the wall com, then had to clear his throat twice before his voice would respond to his will. “Request transfer to the Star. Communication for Llant’Gornu.”

“This is Morgan. May I help you?”

“No. I want to speak with your captain. Now.” Bright lights burst in front of his eyes, and he had to rest his forehead against the wall.

“Gornu here."

“Time for farewells, captain.” His tongue was thick and ungainly in his mouth, slurring his words.

“Where are you?” Her voice was sharp -- with fear? “On Wrigley's? Yes. I have your coordinates.”

The wall com went quiet. Korax staggered to the bench and collapsed.

The door opened, and she was there. She stopped abruptly, then stepped quickly into the pavilion.

“What happened? You look terrible.”

“Time spent under a mindsifter is guaranteed to have a bad effect on one’s appearance.” Hot knives sliced at the inside of his eyes, and nausea rose. Korax was tempted to let consciousness slip away. He forced his eyes to stay open, to look at her.

“Mindsifter?” Llant ran to his chair, knelt beside him. She took one of his hands and held it against her mouth. “Korax, what happened?”

This was worse than the sifter, he decided, almost finding numbness at the center of all the pain. It hurt to look at her. It hurt to know he would willingly face the sifter again, if it was a condition of being able to be with her.

“You know what the mindsifter is capable of, what it reveals. There is no continuing need for you to pretend an interest in me.” He tried to sit straight. “They found the drugs. Found the hypnotic suggestions. Further pretense is unnecessary, I'm no longer useful as a potential tool.”

Her scent was everywhere. He nearly screamed, doubling over, as new pain seared along his nerves.

“Korax!”

Her voice seemed to come from a great distance. If he allowed his eyes to remain closed, he would be sucked into a whirlpool of pain from which he would never emerge. Korax forced himself erect, pushing her hands away.

“I don’t understand what you say about drugs.” Her face appeared to be a mirror of his own agony. “Korax, you hold my heart.” She took his face between her hands. “Look at me. This is truth. I wouldn't harm you or use you.”

“The sifter brought it back, Captain. Your med bay, your doctor. I remembered. I am an incompetent warrior caught in an act of espionage. It was right you should try to gain some advantage from it. Unfortunately, I had very little time or opportunity to be useful to you. A poor return for the amount of effort you put out.” He shuddered, memories overwhelming the pain, but adding to the nausea.

“Look at me. You can’t believe that.”

Korax felt her hands on his face. He swallowed, trying to control the roiling of his stomach, and felt a familiar warm response in his body. It dulled the discomfort, reminded him what happened when they touched each other. He tried to focus clearly on her eyes.

By the hells, she was amazing. Gem. She would look for a mate with her own kind -- not a Klingon warrior. Yet she had made him believe that she wanted, made him feel . . .

 _my wife!_

This was a worse pain than anything the sifter had inflicted. To look at her and desire her, and know he would never again have her.

“Korax. None of those things you said are true.”

“How could it be otherwise? I am Klingon. You are _sheld’kaj_ Gornu. We are enemies.”

“I should kill you for general male stupidity. Korax. I love you. I want _you_.”

Korax looked down at her face, put a finger on her lips. “You asked me to kiss you once. Ask me to kiss you again, par'Machi. One time. One kiss.”

“Korax.” Her cheeks were wet. “Kiss me.”

He pulled her onto his lap. Her fingers twined into his hair, her body molded against him as if she were part of his own body. Korax thought he could feel their hearts beating together. She said his name over and over, against his lips.

 _My breath, my heart._ If he could hold her forever, all would be well. The nausea diminished as he lost himself in her mouth. Her scent, the taste of her skin tried to displace the pain. It almost worked.

 _But why is she doing this? There’s no more need for pretense._

He broke the kiss with a gasp, an inferno behind his eyes. "Enough!"

A series of loud thuds sounded against the pavilion door, which crashed open in response to the application of a strong Klingon shoulder. Two warriors entered, weapons drawn. Lurr, one of Koloth's security officers, was followed by a visibly miserable Koltan.

“Out of the way, _sheld’kaj_! First Officer Korax, you have evaded confinement while under arrest. Come with us or die here.”

Llant was already on her feet, a small phaser conspicuous in her hand.

“I had business to finish,” Korax got to his feet unsteadily. "I'll come with you."

Lurr stepped forward, arm upraised to strike.

“No!” Llant and Koltan spoke in unison.

Lurr withdrew his arm. He shrugged and gestured with his weapon. “Quickly.”

Korax avoided her eyes as he left the cottage.

“Come on Koltan, unless you plan on killing her.” Lurr's harsh laughter followed the suggestion. “I don’t think you could do it but Korax surprised us -- maybe you could, too!”

He’d held on as long as he could. Consciousness disappeared in a burst of searing light.

 

 _KOLTAN: THERE MAY BE A WAY_

“Korax did nothing dishonorable.”

Koltan paused in the doorway. Outside, Lurr stood over Korax’ body, speaking into his communicator. Inside, a human woman with alarming eyes and a small, but undoubtedly effective phaser, advanced on him as if she meant to thrust the phaser through his chest. Koltan held up his hand. "Please. Stop where you are. Kor relayed orders before he left: execute Korax. I agree he doesn’t merit such treatment. He has not behaved dishonorably, only with what will surely become legendary stupidity.”

“Koloth will kill him?" She stopped advancing, even tucked the phaser into her belt. Her eyes were no more sane. "I won't let him."

“Koloth has his orders. Korax is no further use to you, why should you care?” Koltan examined her wet face curiously. Even a warrior unaccustomed to dealing with humans could see this one was in a highly emotional, distraught state.

“The entire Klingon race models legendary stupidity!” Gornu seemed to grow in height as anger displaced agitation. “He is my lover, not some part of a plot to learn Klingon secrets the whole universe already knows!”

“Med scans don't lie. The sifter does not let you fabricate events. Korax was drugged, interrogated, and left with a subconscious directive. A warrior may be executed for much less.”

Gornu stepped forward. Koltan raised his phaser slightly.

“Are you his friend?” She ignored the weapon.

“In fact, I am.”

“How soon will Koloth act?”

Koltan shrugged. “He was still taking new orders and getting berated. And I think he has business of his own to finish on Wrigley's. But very soon.”

“Watch over him. I will not let Koloth kill him. You are --?”

“Koltan. There is little I can do without endangering my own life. But I will monitor him, if I can. He’s in bad shape. Besides the sifter, they used their own drugs on him.” Koltan saw the emotion in her face. “I don’t know why you should care, but consider letting him die a warrior’s death and be done with it. Bring him no more shame.”

“He bears no shame. Korax did nothing dishonorable. There must be a way I can help him. Tell me, Koltan -- what are a Klingon’s options in a situation like this?”

Koltan lowered his weapon. Lurr was signaling. As unlikely as it seemed, she was genuinely interested in helping Korax. “I must go. There may be a way. You will need to speak with Koloth, and inquire about honor-amend.”


	7. Chapter 7

_GORNU: THE COST OF HONOR-AMEND_

Llant stood alone in the pavilion. Vast, calm resolve centered her will. From distant memory she felt the hot wind on Vulcan, heard Starr's guiding thoughts. _Release anger. Be. See. Understand. Now you may act._

She touched her stud. “Star -- give me D.C.”

“Carey here.”

“Tell me what you did to the Klingon, and tell me swiftly.” Llant knew her voice was hard as stone.

“Merde. I gave him a low-level hypnotic to see if it would work on Klingon chemistry, asked him what he was doing on the ship. Told him to let you know where Jones was. That’s it.”

“I'm very angry with you," Llant said. "I need Morgan.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Morgan here.”

“Status of the Tribblion.”

“She’s in orbit around Wrigley's, shields raised. All personnel appear to have returned from shore leave. We have received no message yet concerning intended course out from Wrigley's,” Morgan said. "Are you okay?"

“Star. You’ve got Tribblion shield configurations, and Le’Ling’s personal coordinates. I want you to punch a hole and beam me directly into Le’Ling’s lap.”

“Cap!” Morgan objected. “You want to do this in front of a warbird -- not to mention those snoops on the Enterprise? Le’Ling will be furious. It's an act of aggression of the highest . . .”

“I’m not going to be saying _please_ or _excuse me_ anytime in the near future.” Llant loosened her grip on the com when she saw her fingers were turning white. She took a deep breath. “When you’re ready, Star.”

 

Llant materialized in the center of Le’Ling’s sitting room. Ship’s alarms made an alarming racket, and Le’Ling was poised halfway out of her desk chair.

“What in the hells?” Le’Ling glared at Llant as she slowly sank back into her seat. “Bridge?”

“Unauthorized intruder. Deterioration to zero of deflector shield in section 3-B. Should we go to red alert?”

Le’Ling’s voice was like shattered glass. “Shield's current condition?”

“Back to maximum. Captain?”

“Cancel alert. I have the intruder with me. It’s Gornu.”

“That bitch!”

“That will be all.” Le’Ling folded her hands precisely in front of her, as if to keep from reaching for a weapon. “I didn’t know you could do that to the shields. Why the grand entrance?”

Llant stepped forward, planted both hands on the edge of the desk and glared at Le’Ling. “Get Koloth on the com, old friend, and do it now. He plans to kill his first officer. If that happens, I will devote the remainder of my life to making him believe immolation in all the Klingon hells would be a pleasant summer vacation compared to my attentions."

“Explain.”

“I don’t have time. If you hold his sanity and life dear, contact him now.” Llant held Le'Ling's eyes, and saw the moment she capitulated.

“I know you well enough to believe the sincerity of the threat.” Le’Ling touched her communicator. “Ship to ship with Gr'oth: Captain Koloth, please . . . No, you _will_ let me speak with Koloth. This is Captain Le’Ling, Tribblion.” Le'Ling listened, then activated the speaker.

“This is a bad time, Ling. Can I speak with you later?”

“I don’t think so. Gornu says --”

Llant leaned over the desk, pitched her voice low and hard. “This is Llant’Gornu. We haven’t met yet, Koloth. You have orders to execute Korax. You will not do this thing. Le’Ling will explain to you the lengths I am prepared to go to should such an event occur. I would speak with you in person, and at once. If you act wisely, you may benefit from this situation. If you do not acknowledge my demand for conference and comply immediately, I am prepared to take wraith-oath against you.”

“Le’Ling!” A howl of protest rattled the communicator. “What’s wrong with her? Does she realize what wraith-oath implies?”

“Beam over, speak with her. She’s not in a good mood, and I imagine she could make the Klingon concept of wraith-oath look like a Betazoid social event.” Le’Ling frowned at Llant. “We’re dropping our shields, you have my coordinates. Better do it now.”

“I’m in enough trouble. But I was coming over anyway.”

There was a sulky quality to his voice Llant registered with immediate distaste.

“Bridge. Drop shields, transporter traffic from Gr'oth expected. Maintain yellow alert.” Le'Ling left her desk and stood in the center of the room.

Koloth glared through the process of materialization, glared as he stepped forward to touch Le’Ling’s hand in greeting. “We have not met, but I recognize you.” His voice was sharp. “I’m here, _sheld’kaj_. Talk to me.”

“I think you must excuse me from this conversation,” Le’Ling said. “This should be between the two of you. I’ll be close if you need me,” she said to Koloth.

Llant watched her go without expression. Le'Ling had just told her where she stood in any future conflict, and it wasn't with Llant and the Star. “Korax has done nothing dishonorable. This nonsense about drugs and mental manipulation is just an excuse to fix blame somewhere. Korax was never spying for me.”

“I have orders, and they come from a source I cannot argue with,” Koloth said. “Korax is a fool. You are _sheld’kaj_ \-- and a flagrant thorn in the side of the council. Le’Ling is only a smuggler. She may have cheated a few Klingons, but she has not blown a warbird to dust. They couldn’t overlook your alliance. And what possible reason could you have to be interested in Korax, if not for information?”

“Why are you interested in Le’Ling, you internal parasite?” Llant wanted to scrub the expression from Koloth’s face with something sharp. “Korax is my mate. I will protect him with my life, and seek revenge on those who harm him.”

Koloth grimaced. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally. “Korax? He doesn’t even seek the company of other warriors. It's true, I have firsthand knowledge of how engaging a human female can be. But _I_ have always liked females.”

Llant held her breath to a count of seven, then spoke between clenched teeth. “I have learned that Klingons from wealthier families may arrange to obliterate minor honor blemishes by changing their name, rank and post. If a warrior has a secondary name on either side of his heritage, he may adopt it and work toward honor-amend.”

Koloth snorted. “Perhaps in the council halls of homeworld, some of the high-spirited elite might have that option. On the frontier, mid-level warriors are sent to labor planets -- or executed.”

“But you could arrange such a thing, if you had the resources and the motivation. My information indicates you have close friends and family ties that reach all the way to the high council.”

“How would you know this? Anyway, the cost of such arrangements is prohibitive. And implementation of such a thing, when Kor is the officer who pronounced the death sentence, is uncertain.” Koloth's eyes glittered with suppressed avarice.

“Then we are fortunate that I have several hundred bars of latinum in my possession.”

Koloth sat down at Le’Ling’s desk. “Are you offering to buy Korax?”

“I am offering to pay for a change of identity and post, so he may honorably remain a warrior.”

Koloth leaned back in the chair and let his eyes travel over her slowly, from head to toe and back again. He frowned. “I could just give him to you,” he said finally, “and register a death by misadventure.”

“And the question of his honor?”

“He would still be alive.” Koloth shrugged. “Regaining his honor will take more than your latinum.” He watched her reaction through narrowed eyes. “I will agree to try and arrange what you request, if you will tell me the real reason you are doing this.”

“Klingons! Denser than 'roid rock. I love him. He . . .” her words faltered. Llant turned away from Koloth. She looked at the blank viewscreen. “How much latinum will be necessary to make the arrangements?”

 

 _LE'LING: PARTING OF THE WAYS_

“You worked things out with her, love?” Le’Ling paused in the door. Koloth was stretched out on the couch staring at the ceiling, hands under his head, feet propped against the wall.

“I think so. She quit threatening me, at least. She is very fierce for a human. Almost a Klingon spirit to her." Koloth turned his head to look at Le'Ling, a comically quizzical expression on his thin, mobile mouth. "She offered me a great deal of latinum to buy Korax from under his sentence. Does she really have such resources?”

“Gornu has more credit -- concrete and electronic -- than many planetary governments. She'll honor any promise she has made.” Le'Ling sighed. Llant was also volatile, unpredictable, and thoroughly annoying to work with. Their friendship might last, but the working relationship had obviously come to an end.

“She claims Korax is her mate. A Klingon and a human . . .”

“What are you trying to say?” Le’Ling bristled.

Koloth sat up, laughing. “We’re different. I still don't believe Korax could interest a comet like that.”

Le’Ling sat down beside him. “I don’t understand it, either. Gornu’s taste in men has been -- sophisticated. Your first officer doesn't seem to have any of the qualities she's been attracted to in the past."

Koloth caressed the back of her neck. “I’d like to stay, but I need to take care of this business. I want that female out of my life. And we have orders to leave for Raja. Will you follow?”

“Yes. Raja is borderspace, we can find work there.” The rest of the Tribblion crew wouldn't mind a tame, borderspace trade route, Le'Ling knew.

“Captain?” The summons came from the com. “Star has the decency to request permission to transfer cargo to your quarters.”

Le’Ling considered reprimanding the crewman for his sarcasm, then decided it was warranted. “Request granted.”

They watched the materialization of an unremarkable-looking crate.

Koloth broke the seal, whistled. “She wasn’t kidding. This is a fortune.”

Le’Ling looked at the latinum with dismay. “I hope her crew doesn’t kill her for this. I’ll wager they'd think this a monstrous waste of credit.”

“Will you keep most of it for me in a safe place?" Koloth fondled a bar, eyes glittering. "I can’t bring it all to the Gr'oth, it would be like wearing an "assassinate me" banner, while stepping into someone's knife.”

“How much will you need to take with you?”

“For Korax? I’ll take eight bars.” Koloth kissed her. “Now, I have work to do.”

 

 _WOLFE: THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE_

Tired and sweating, Llant dropped her staff. “Star: exit program.”

They had exercised for nearly an hour, dueling across an uneven mountainous projection in Star’s holoroom.

“Good workout.” Wolfe joined her in the shower jets, frankly appraising the fading bruises on Llant's body. "I see why Carey is concerned. You don't go looking for pain."

Llant turned her head and tried to see down her back. "Klingons have more hard places on them than humans do, Randy. When a soft human, and a hard Klingon bang into each other, repeatedly . . ."

"I get the picture." Wolfe found herself laughing at Llant's "educational" voice. "You do understand the concerns?"

“Probably,” Llant admitted, shaking her hair under the warm dryer air. “I feel better at this moment, anyway. I was ready to kill something.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Wolfe's tone was carefully neutral.

Llant pulled on ship fatigues before she answered. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Let’s go to the arboretum and have a drink.”

They walked the short corridor, rode the lift in silence.

The arboretum was warm and sweet-smelling, thick with flowering plants and earthy humidity. At the farthest end of the space comfortable canvas chairs were concealed by fernhair shrubs. Water trickled down the wall and pooled before following a miniature rock bed into the mass of plant life. Wolfe found the replicator concealed by a shrub.

“Pitcher of limeade, two glasses.”

They stretched out in the chairs, listening to the sound of water.

“Have you given thought to bonding, creating a family?” Llant asked.

Wolfe studied her friend over the rim of her glass. “I had strong parents and three siblings. We communicate, and I feel very close to them. You know I lost a man I thought might be my life partner. I’ve always assumed it would happen again, that I would raise children, grow old with someone I love.”

“Our current occupation would make that difficult.”

“Perhaps.” Wolfe turned the glass in her hand. "You have Star, for as long as you live. How long do you think the rest of us will stick with this life?"

“I've wondered," Llant admitted. "We’ve been together nearly three ship’s years. No one has asked to leave, no one has asked to include a mate in the crew.”

"Any of them would ask, if that's what they found they wanted," Wolfe said.

“While we have room for a larger crew, Star would not be satisfactory for raising children." Llant shook her head. "No, If I want to keep my crew long-term, we need to start discussing this now.”

“It's an abrupt change of mission, Llant. _Why_ now?"

“Korax.”

“The Klingon?” Wolfe tried not to let the skepticism she felt color her voice. “I don’t understand. I thought the Gr'oth was preparing to depart from Wrigley's. What would you do with a Klingon aboard Star? What would _he_ do?”

“I’m going to try and explain why the treasury is short fifty bars of latinum -- so shut up and listen closely, I’ll not be in a mood to repeat myself.”

Wolfe poured herself a second drink. She listened with increasing incredulity and dismay. “Have you spoken with Carey?” she asked, at the end of Llant's blunt recital of fact and figures.

“Carey!” Llant threw her glass against the nearest rock. “I don’t know when I’ll speak to her again. What she did was inexcusible.”

“She has responsibilities. You had aberrant med scans, it's her duty to investigate. She didn’t do anything unusual -- treated him gently, in fact. The Klingons overreacted, as they usually do. Blame them, not us.” Wolfe stared at the broken glass. Exercise had not worked off all of Llant's anger.

“I blame all of you. And when I tell you I’ve finally chosen a mate, I don’t expect you to urge a medical exam. If there was something seriously wrong with me, Star would have warned Carey.”

That was true, Wolfe thought. “Llant, I’ve known you for a long time. You have to admit your choice is unexpected. And the latinum . . . now I must take your commitment seriously.”

“That was sarcasm.” Llant stood. “I love him, Wolfe. I don’t know why, but I could no more let them kill him than I could let one of you die. Right now he doesn’t like me very much, and the fear of his rejection is the coldest, most frightening thing I've ever faced. This is a battle I have never fought before, and it's not a battle I'm sure I can win.”

“We’re here, whatever we can do to help.” Wolfe set down her glass. She eased her long legs out of the chair. The urge to grab her friend and pull her close to offer comfort was overwhelming.

“Captain. Klingon Captain Koloth wishes to speak with you.” Morgan’s voice intruded. “The Tribblion has transmitted formal termination of our contract with them, and registered a course to Raja. She is preparing to depart.”

“Thank you. Put Koloth through.”

Wolfe stepped away.

“No, Wolfe. Stay. Gornu here.”

“Captain. I have some cargo that belongs to you. All arrangements have been completed. Shall I transport it over?”

“You have no additional details for me?” Llant frowned at the com.

“He knows the details, and an order slate will accompany him. It’s up to you to arrange the next part of the transport. You'll not find him grateful, I warn you. Keep the order slate away from him until he reaches his destination -- he may attempt to do something stupid. I’ve kept my word fully, Gornu, and was fortunate in my dealings. Korax will have a good name, and a chance to add to his status if he works hard. May you die in battle, Llant’Gornu.”

“You have my thanks, Koloth. May I kill you in battle!”

Koloth laughed. “May one of us realize our fondest desire. Provide coordinates: our transporter room is waiting.”

Llant took a breath. “Star -- one Klingon waiting on the Gr'oth transporter pad. Grab him and bring him here.”

There was a silence, then Sheila’s voice. “Got him, Cap. He doesn’t look happy.”

“Take him to med bay, under guard -- but gently!”

Wolfe followed her captain out of the arboretum at a near run.

 

 _GORNU: LOVERS' PARTING_

“They’ve administered a rather nasty drug, and if he’s not feeling well, don’t be surprised.” Carey looked up from her tricorder as they entered med bay. Korax sat across the room on a diagnostic bed, hands restrained, glaring at a point above their heads. “I guess it’s supposed to be a universal antidote, but it also has strong depressant effects on Klingon chemistry -- normal adrenal and hormonal levels seem to be low and fluctuating unpredictably.”

Llant looked at Sheila, who had her phaser aimed at Korax.

“This arrived with him," Sheila handed her a slate. "And the code card to his cuffs. He didn’t want to come with us. I thought I was going to have to knock him out.”

“Thanks, Sheila. Wolfe will handle any further security arrangements.”

Sheila tucked her hand phaser away. “Good luck, Cap.”

“Go away.” Llant read the body language of her engineer, and didn't appreciate the message. “It’s not his fault.”

Korax continued to ignore all of them.

“Carey -- the drug will wear off?”

Carey nodded. “I think so. With my limited knowledge of Klingon medicine, I’d be hesitant to intervene in his body’s natural process of assimilating and degrading it.”

“I wish you’d been as cautious before,” Llant said. “Leave me alone with him. Wolfe, stand by outside.”

The room was very quiet after her crew left.

“Korax.” Llant stepped close enough to swipe the card across his cuffs and remove them. She touched his hand.

“Don’t touch me.” Korax made brief eye contact, then resumed staring over her shoulder.

Llant discarded the cuffs. She sat down on the station across from him. “DId Koloth explain what he arranged for you?”

“Did he explain I have lost my name, my post, been reassigned to some dusty labor facility in the Bergen? That I must continue to live if I wish to regain my honor? Yes,” Korax’ voice was thick with sarcastic anger. “He explained everything to me. He did not explain why I must continue to endure your company, and risk even the chance of regaining honor.”

“Koloth could not transport you. That is my responsibility.”

“Why didn’t you let them kill me?” His eyes seemed to roll upward for a moment, then refocused.

The fatalism in his voice frightened her. “You didn’t do anything. I'm willing to take responsibility for what my crew did, and attempt to set it right. I love you, Korax.”

He turned his head away from her, wincing as if the movement caused him physical pain. “My name is no longer Korax. And whatever human emotion you claim to hold for me, it is irrelevant to a common Klingon warrior third-class. Leave me alone.”

His words were like a physical blow. “When the drug wears off you’ll feel better, we’ll talk then.” Llant stood, stepped toward him and tentatively touched his cheek. His skin felt unexpectedly cold, wrong.

Korax jerked away as if her touch burned him. He stood unsteadily, moving roughly past her to put the med station between them. “If you ever touch me again I am honor-bound to try and break your neck. A Klingon warrior is not a sex toy, Captain Gornu. They tell me if I had been in my right mind, I would have known this truth.”

Llant turned, left him alone in med bay.

Wolfe was waiting in the corridor. “Llant?”

“Secure him to med bay. Don't harm him, but be cautious with him. He's not acting normally.”

“I’m glad you know what normal is for a Klingon. I’ll take care of it personally,” Wolfe said.

“Thank you, Wolfe.”

“He’ll get over it. You heard D.C., he feels like shit right now.”

Llant shook her head. “I don’t know what's going on with him. I’m going to my quarters.”

 

Haven and home, Llant could never remember a time when her quarters were a place she ran to for escape. She sat in her armchair, conscious of a sense of aching loss when she looked at the order slate clenched in her hand. She activated the slate and set it on the chair's armrest.

 _Star, can you read this slate for me?_

 _Warrior: Kendal, third-class. Destination: Agab mining station in Bergen cluster. That's the edge of Klingon space, Gem._

“Allallu,” Llant spoke to the com. “Set course into the Bergen, toward Agab mining station. Sub-warp speed, and find me another transport vehicle in the area. Anything: miner, scout, business transport. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

 _Is it possible he will never accept that I love him? I can’t panic, have to wait this out. How ironic I should come to regret my lack of knowledge about this particular culture. Hate is such a waste of time._ Llant felt the touch of her ship, a quiet inquisitive stroke along her surface thoughts, but no answer.

She needed a distraction, some different focus. Llant stood and crossed to a spot behind the counter. “Star of Hope: Gem Gornu: open vault.” She spoke the key, watched Star's substance shiver, then reform into an oval doorway.

The small, shelf-lined space held bottles and books, precious artifacts, weaponry, jewelry. Llant located the hammered metal box that contained what she was looking for. She removed an opalescent, button-sized pill. From a floor-to-ceiling wine rack she selected a pale yellow, corked bottle.

“Close vault.” Llant inspected her glasses, chose a piece of crystal. She set glass and bottle on a low table, and sat cross-legged near the wall. “Exterior view, full cabin.”

Black space and swirls of milky light from distant stars crawled above, below and around her. Llant extracted the cork from the bottle, poured the pale, fragrant liqueur into the crystal flute. She swallowed the drug. She imagined herself floating, impossibly, on an island drifting through the endless cold magnificence of space; memory directly gleaned from her contact with the H'russ.

“Star, replay recording of recent Vulcan rock-chime concert.” Llant shivered as the l’chan slowed her metabolism and sharpened her senses.

 _It's always hot on Vulcan. How long since we were there, Star; how long since we watched a brilliant Vulcan morning burn into our eyes? We've been in borderspace so long without a goal. How can I let him go? How is it possible I could want him this much?_

 

“Captain. Llant!”

Llant woke hard and slow. She stretched, lassitude from the drug she had taken still griping her mind and body. “What is it?”

“Wolfe here. We have a freighter on long-range scan, far in the Bergen. Registry: Patjik Freeworlds.”

“Buying ore from the Klingons, probably.” Llant worked to form more coherent thought. “Can you contact her?”

“One moment: yes. She’s answered our hail.”

“Get me her captain.” Llant stood and straightened her jumpsuit, brushed her hair back from her face.

“Captain Tilk here.” The wallscreen activated in a small field. “We are aware of your registry and reputation, Takka’aq Dorg. You travel near Klingon fringe space, and we seek to avoid trouble. We are a simple freighter.”

Llant nodded at the stick-thin Patjik captain. “I'm not looking for trouble, but to purchase a service. You are headed deeper into the Bergen.”

“Our destination is Agab mining station, to obtain ore,” he acknowledged.

“I have a passenger I must deliver to that station, but, as you have pointed out, this ship is not a welcome traveler in this area. I would arrange a secondary transport for my passenger, thus ensure completion of my commission, and his safety.”

“Our facilities are primitive, crew minimal," the Patjik said. "A human passenger would find our atmosphere uncomfortable and survival might be questionable.”

“The passenger is Klingon. You can put him in an enviro-tent for the short trip left to Agab,” Llant said.

“Klingon? How peculiar. I trust this is an honorable request you make.”

“Not only honorable, but I'm prepared to offer a good transport rate.”

The slim, wood-colored Patjik raised leafy eyehoods. “Latinum? Four bars?”

Llant laughed. “I didn’t say extravagant. For such a short journey, perhaps two.”

“But the painstaking care of an enviro-tent -- surely is worth three bars.”

“You have me at a disadvantage. You appear to be the only possibility of transport, so I must take that into account," Llant pretended to deliberate the merits of the proposal. "Three bars is excessive, but I trust you'll fulfill this contract with great discretion.”

“Ah!” the Patjik captain nodded. “I should have pressed you for four, I perceive. This is a delicate matter?”

“A matter of honor. Do we have a bargain?”

“We do. Your ship is too distant for a transport.”

“We'lll close with you shortly. I'll signal at that time.” She broke contact. “Gornu to Wolfe. Close with the Patjik ship. The captain has agreed to carry Korax to Agab. You’ll need to have an enviro-tent ready in the transporter room.”

“We should be in range in half an hour.”

“Let me know.”

Llant showered and dressed in a fresh jumpsuit, repressing the urge to wear something flagrantly feminine. She sat at her vanity and brushed her hair, staring at her milk-pale image. The ear stud Korax had given to her lay on a spill of black velvet, reflecting opal-colored light from crystal drops. She touched it, then fixed it to her ear.

“The battle of a lifetime,” she told her reflection.

Kern was stationed outside med bay. She saluted her Captain after a head to toe inspection that seemed to alarm the normally imperturbable woman. “All quiet, Cap. You might not want to let Wolfe see you looking like that . . .”

“Mind your own business, Kalliste.”

Korax was stretched out on the bed, deeply asleep. Llant crossed the room quietly, stood looking down at his dark, peaceful face.

The reality was, she had already lost him. She wanted him, wanted to be with him, but had nothing honorable to offer. It was tempting to imagine if she only gave him enough time to regain his rank, they could be together again. Star could always find work in borderspace, nearby. Perhaps he would see her, after a time.

Unable to prevent herself, Llant touched his hair, smoothing the thick brown-black curls away from his face.

 

 _KORAX: LOVERS' PARTING_

 _Her smell. Her touch._ Korax opened his eyes. Disoriented, he stared up into her face. His arms were reaching for her even as their eyes met.

“Korax? Are you feeling better?”

Full awareness hit him with the force of a batleth to the chest. Korax rolled off the opposite side of the bed, away from her touch. The simple motion told him exactly how battered his body still was. “Captain. Have we reached our destination?”

Llant’s hand dropped to her side. “A Pajtik freighter is nearby. I've made arrangements for her to take you to your post. It's a safer alternative to arriving on the Star."

“It will increase my chances of short-term survival.”

“We'll be in transporter range very soon. I hoped we could talk ...” Llant stopped, clearly uncertain what her words should be.

Korax carefully did not look directly at her. “I thought I was clear. By Klingon law I may not see, touch or speak with you. You must leave me alone.”

“Once you demanded something from me, and we struck a bargain. Perhaps, another bargain --”

“I have nothing you need, nothing you can use. Go away, Captain Gornu. There is nothing more to speak about.” Korax turned his back on her, willing her to leave.

“Then you will have to try and kill me.” She stepped behind him, resting her hands on his back. Her fingers caressed the ridge of his spine.

He couldn't bear it. Korax turned swiftly. “Find another disposable male to play with.” He caught her hands before they could touch his mouth, held them tightly, then made the mistake of meeting her eyes.

 _Wife._

There was a subtle difference in her posture, in the too-white skin of her cheeks and colored circles under her eyes. Korax' finger traced the proud line of her neck, stopped where the stud in her ear lay like opal fire against the fire of her hair. She shivered, lips parting in expectation.

 _We spoke the words that bind two in oath. And though it will mean nothing to you, I will never say the words of divorce. My heart, my breath -- my wife. I should be dead._

Korax dropped her hand, backed away. He felt gutted yet somehow still alive. “Since I still live, I must work to regain my rank and earn a name that is not my own. Warrior third-class is as low as a warrior can go. Killing a _sheld’kaj_ would improve my status, but my name is gone forever.”

“Stay on the Star. You're a trained officer, I can find work for you.” Llant's voice was steady, toneless.

“You cannot find honor for me. The course is set, captain.”

“How long will you follow this course?”

She spoke as if passage of time would change his status. He doubted that he could make her understand what had happened to him. “Most warriors condemned to third work their lives away,” Korax said slowly. “I cannot be discharged, or achieve honor-amend until I reach my previous rank: Commander-first. I will be fortunate to live long enough to work my way to warrior-second.”

“Your choice is to leave the Star, and never see me again?” Her voice lost volume, but remained steady. “Even though I swear to you that there was no artifice or pretense in my feeling for you?”

“It is our law.”

“And you would go without a touch, a kiss, a word of farewell?” The question rang out with proud, fierce demand. A warrior’s demand. She stepped toward him, offering her fisted hand, wrist turn up.

Korax felt the response in his body, the urge to rush at her and stop the foolish debate by holding his mouth against hers, by taking her body until nothing mattered but the two of them, moving together.

“Do not touch me,” he commanded harshly. “Our farewell was said on Wrigley's.” The memory triggered the sifter pain, a strobe with blinding pulses and red-hot agony behind his eyes. “Go. Leave me alone. Your presence makes me ill.”

Llant turned and left the room swiftly.

Korax felt the strength leave his knees. He collapsed, stomach and chest resting on the bed.

 _If I had touched her again, neither honor nor pain would have mattered. It is a terrible thing to face the loss of my name, my rank, my post: but how can I live without her? If I called her back, would she come? I cannot think it._

He held his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach and shut his eyes. Kor would find this amusing. Death would have been a kindness.

 

 _WOLFE: CALIBAN_

Wolfe vacated the com chair as Llant entered the bridge. She took in the odd pallor of her captain's skin, the violet-colored smudges under her eyes with a shock of recognition. Her captain had taken a dose of l'chan recently.

“What the hells are you thinking? You look terrible, Llant. If Carey sees you . . .”

“My mood matches my appearance, Wolfe,” Llant warned. “How close are we to the freighter?”

“Coming into range.” Wolfe caught Allallu's look of silent appeal and shook her head. _Not now._

“Beam over an enviro-tent and the latinum bars as soon as you can, then escort the Klingon to the transporter. As soon as the Patjik confirms he is ready, transport the Klingon.” Llant swivelled to Allallu, at the monitor panels. “Plot a course to Libra Secundus. As soon as the transport is complete, and the Patjik signals all is well, initiate at maximum warp. I think Sheila wanted to do some high-speed tests with Star. Alert her this is the time.”

“Ayiah.”

“Wolfe.”

“Captain?”

“Let it be. I’ll be in the holoroom -- but don’t bother me unless you see Romulans.” Llant left her chair, left the bridge.

“Randy.” Allallu stared after her captain. “Big trouble?”

“L’chan. And a man. Merde.” Wolfe considered alerting Carey, then decided to give Llant a chance to burn off some of her tension in the holoroom. “I’m going down to the transporter. Alert the freighter.”

What did Llant expect to find at Libra Secundus? Records, library vaults? She was going to research something. Wolfe had seen that look in her friend's eyes before, inner demons at the helm.

 _The ride may get rough._

By the time Wolfe located an enviro-tent the latinum bars were already waiting on the transporter pad. She dollied the tent next to them and backed away to touch the transport panel. “Ready, Star.”

“Items received,” a dry voice acknowledged after a moment. “We will set up the tent and be ready for our passenger shortly.”

Wolfe found Kern still stationed outside med bay. “Keep your phaser on him,” she cautioned. “Carey says the drug should be almost gone, but I doubt his temper has improved.”

Korax rose as they entered. He accompanied them, silently docile, to the transporter room. He took his place on the pad, head held high, arrogantly indifferent to the women watching him.

“I’d like to shoot him,” Kern confessed, her usually unemotional voice slightly surprised. “Did you see Llant? She’s been in the l’chan.”

“Yes,” Wolfe said shortly. “And as usual, you're being too kind. I’d like to draw blood on him and throw him into a tank of baby razorfins.”

“Patjik freighter signaling ready.” Allallu’s voice announced.

The door opened behind them. “He’ll need his orders.”

Just when Wolfe thought the situation couldn’t get worse, it did. Llant had changed ship's uniform for her Arcanii whitemail. Wolfe remembered watching snow-vipers in the Geodome zoos that looked less sleek, deadly and detached.

“May you die in battle.” Llant extended the slate to Korax. Their eyes met, held.

Time seemed to freeze around them, then Korax took the tablet and tucked it into his tunic.

Llant spun on her heel, left the tranporter room.

Wolfe watched Korax' face and eyes, shocked by what she saw. He loved her. Klingon he might be, but that mix of pride, regret, and raw desire was unmistakeable. She took a step toward the transporter pad. “Do you know what you’re doing? Llant doesn’t give herself lightly. She didn’t want you hurt, and she doesn’t want you dishonored. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

Expression drained from his eyes, leaving them black, empty and alien. “She will find another playmate.”

Wolfe backed away, hand itching to grab her phaser. “Transport ready. Thank you for your services.” She thought about dropping the Klingon onto the hull of the freighter, then shook her head fiercely and touched the H’russ panel.

Korax disappeared in a haze.

“Transport complete. Initiate course change.”

“Ayiah.” Allallu’s voice agreed. “Libra Secundus, five days at what Shelia says will be rather high speeds.”

“Allallu: send Carey to the holoroom _now_.” Wolfe turned to Kern. “Better come with me.”

Carey was ahead of them, yawning and doing deep knee bends in front of the holoroom entrance. “What’s up?”

Wolfe examined the program selecter. “Llant’s in there. The room is locked, the Klingon’s gone -- and she’s wearing whitemail. Judging by her color and her eyes, she found some l’chan in ship’s stores. What do you think she might be doing in there?”

“Gornu, you idiot!” Carey spoke directory to Star. “Medical override, Star: Open the holoroom.”

Nothing happened. Wolfe wasn’t sure whether Star’s lack of acknowledgement was encouraging, or the H’russ just lacked the experience to know what Llant’s state of mind could mean.

“Kern -- take a look."

Kern opened the control panel. “Star is Llant’s ship -- and they’re both good.” Her fingers traced commands, alternative suggestions. “Sorry. Star won’t acknowledge me in this.”

“How about a little manual alteration in programming?” Carey suggested.

“You want me to break it?” Kern hesitated. “Star would take great offense. Let me talk to her for a few minutes.” The Vulcan woman’s hand rested against the panel, sinking slowly into the pliant H’russ surface. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

“Did you scan Llant again?”

“Not since I had them both in med bay. I did suggest she come back in -- wait a minute. I left recording mode on when she interviewed him after pickup.” Carey pulled out her tablet, began to review her records. “High hormonal and pheromonal activity. No drugs present. Not an unusual reading for an intimate couple.”

“So she took the l’chan after that meeting.”

“She’s a rotten example for her crew,” Carey fumed. “How do I deal with this? She knows better.”

“Thank you!” Kern removed her hand from the panel as the holoroom door opened.

“I’d better go in alone.” Wolfe peered into the dark, plant filled interior. “Replicator: armguards, slurry boots, and a short-sword.”

“Be careful. I don’t know what program she’s running, but it’s drawn maximum computer interface potential. Everything Star's got that's not devoted to ship’s systems is plugged into that room right now,” Kern said.

Carey watched Wolfe put on the light armor. “What would a ship-wide alert and shutdown of life-support do?” she asked Kern.

“Good idea. It would probably immediately terminate the program.”

“Talk to Star some more.” Wolfe stood, adjusted her grip on the knife. “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, give it a try.”

“Good hunting, Wolfe.”

 

Wolfe thought she recognized the jungle. _Caliban._

She had seen news records of the carnage, bodies that steamed like the jungle steamed, seeming a part of the dark, primitive landscape. Caliban was in borderspace, no alliance to any larger system. It had been co-settled by humans and lindtherians. The lindtherians found the rich, steamy swamps to their liking; humans were able to survive in the higher altitude, jungle-covered mountains. Then the Klingons had decided to mine those mountains, and claimed Caliban was in Klingon space, under Klingon rule. It was stretching the borders of Klingon space a long way, and several other non-Klingon colonies were in the area.

Star Fleet was indecisive. It wasn’t their business, and the human colonists had been warned not to enter the area. Fleet didn’t feel it was Klingon space, but it wasn’t Federation space, either.

Llant’Gornu, in a remarkable new ship, made a quick decision and acted. She knew several of the colonists, knew the lindtherian governor. A unique experiment in cohabitation and the lives of friends were under threat of termination. One Klingon warbird stood between the Star and Caliban.

Llant hadn’t had time to train a crew, hadn’t had time to exploit Star's capabilities and integrate fully with the H’russ. She went in cloaked, and decloaked with a warning shot between the ship and planet.

The warbird responded with phasers. A few hits glanced harmlessly off the Star’s uniquely armored sides. The H’russ, in an instinctive reaction of self-defense, sent out a massive spread of photon discs and pinpoint phaser targeting, utilizing the instant harmonics analysis it excelled at. The warbird wheeled, filling black space with light as a series of internal explosions ripped it apart.

Over 70 warriors remained on the planet. They had commandeered the human colonists’ primary settlement, and confined the humans they found to use as labor. The lindtherians had given them trouble, so they poisoned the swamps. Lindtherians were vermin, in their view, not opponents. Any species that would not carry weapons, but were capable and willing to inflict damage on property and vital equipment could be treated as vermin.

Star’s instruments relayed the grim news: no lindtherian life remained. Sixty human signs showed, from a colony of 150. Leaving her handful of new crew above, Llant had dressed in her Arcanii whitemail and beamed to the surface. She released the remaining colonists, and they melted into the jungle.

Caliban was not a good environment for phaser work. Vegetation grew quickly and thickly. The colonists had learned this early, and given up trying to clear large spaces. Outside the perimeter of the settlement the jungle was primally thick and hot, making ground scan identification of lifeforms difficult and imprecise.

They started to kill Klingons.

When Llant signaled the Star to evacuate survivors, 30 colonists remained, and no Klingons. Her face had been sliced to the bone, and one hand nearly severed, but the whitemail had kept her alive. Colonist accounts credited Llant'Gornu with perhaps half the Klingon deaths.

She transported the remaining colonists back to Federation space and left them numb and grieving at a military outpost where Star Fleet could take responsibility for them. Then she went looking for another warbird.

Llant found a young captain prowling the hot border between Klingon and Federation space. She told him what had happened and relayed the vid records of the slaughter on Caliban. She conveyed a warning and personal promise, then disappeared before his eyes.

The Klingons were enraged, the high council demanding to know who had authorized the work on Caliban, how a D7 class battle cruiser had been lost. What flarefly was this that could cloak like a Romulan, destroy a warbird without any damage? They investigated. Former Star Fleet ensign . . . the screams of indignation and accusation reached Federation officials, who disclaimed knowledge or approval of the action. She was an independent citizen, in a H’russ ship. The Fleet left her alone, they suggested the Klingons do the same.

Llant'Gornu was pronounced _sheld’kaj_. Other events pushed Llant’s exploit to the background, and even the Klingon High Council was hesitant about confronting the H’russ without more preparation.

Wolfe pushed thick brush aside, unable to find a path. She could hear the noise of battle somewhere ahead of her, and knew what must be happening. Llant had never told her the story, she had heard it in a bar before they became reacquainted in the years after the academy. But Wolfe had, more than once, heard the judgment in Llant’s voice when she spoke of Klingon butchers.

And now she was bonded to one of the butchers she despised?

There was a body at her feet. Klingon, his face and throat slashed. Wolfe moved carefully, and the plant life grudgingly thinned. She could see the outline of a habitent, and hear the rhythmic clash of metal and grunts of exertion.

Llant was fighting two Klingons, and she moved like silver lightning. Her whitemail was stained pink and green, her hair was wetly plastered to her head. A captured batleth whirled and sliced the air, delivering death to another holographic combatant.

One Klingon tripped her with his weapon. She rolled and sliced. He fell into a heap. She stood over him, her blade piercing his throat.

Wolfe stepped forward, and a Klingon confronted her. “Llant!” She brought her sword up, met the ferocious charge.

The jungle disappeared. Wolfe dropped her weapon.

Llant stood, batleth raised, panting, her eyes wild.

Carey and Kern stepped through the door. “We didn’t wait, Wolfe.”

“Good work.” Wolfe watched her friend warily.

“You have two choices,” Carey said simply. “Come to med bay with me, or Kern will shoot you and Wolfe will carry you there.”

Llant grounded the batleth. “I suppose I have Kern to thank for the interruption. Don’t add injury to insult, Kalliste. You won’t have to shoot me. And take Star back to normal status! I’m going to have to iron that bug out.”

“You push my patience to the limit, Llant.” Carey snapped. “Come on.”

 

“I put her to sleep,” Carey sipped from a steaming cup of cream-rich coffee. “She needs a long, deep rest before she faces this again. When she wakes up we’ll be well on our way to Libra Secundus, and she can tell us what she has in mind.”

“She’s going to be wild for a while,” Wolfe blew a trail of sweet tobacco smoke into the air. “I predict we may recoup the losses to the treasury in a short time. Personal crisis seems to stimulate Llant’s creative abilities.”

“I don’t understand it, but she loves him. I’m sorry our actions contributed to this fiasco, but in the same circumstances, I would probably do the same things again.”

“We had a minor role,” Wolfe said, watching the air-purifier suck the smoke into nothingness. “Klingon politics are the force that drove events. When she calms down and analyzes what happened -- and she will -- I’m afraid her future dealings with Klingons may be even harsher. Vendetta is a concept humans refined while Klingons were still wearing animal skins as trophies of their prowess in the hunt.”

“With any luck it will be a long time before we see another Klingon. We’re heading out of fringe space, I wonder if Starr is still on earth?” Carey said wistfully.

“Give it up.” Wolfe laughed. “A Vulcan with a sense of humor. But can you imagine her as a diplomat’s wife?”

“I would have volunteered.” Carey shrugged. “A Klingon is easier to cast in that role? What could be between them to cause this extreme behavior? I’d feel better if I did have a medical answer.”

“Wait till you have children. I bet we have a similar discussion when your first daughter starts noticing males.”

Carey snorted. “When she wakes, I’ll send Glo to speak with her. She’ll have the best chance of helping Llant sort this out. Until then, I think I’ll get some sleep too, and find out what Star has on Libra Secundus.” She stood, stretched. “I’m not having children.”

 

 _GORNU: PLAN FOR THE FUTURE_

“You’re here because Carey sent you, Glo. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be all right.”

Llant sat behind her desk, watching the Vandorian stretch into the form she had first seen her assume: a slight, weathered female humanoid of no discernible race. “And yes, I know we have been friends for a long time. I’m dealing with it, Glo.”

“They fear your ways of dealing with problems, child. They care for you.”

“And I care for them. But I can't speak of the Klingon yet, old friend. I have work to do first. Then, later, we may share a bowl of chai and speak of this thing.”

“I must trust you. But if I see the madness take you, I will intervene.”

Llant laughed. “You’re probably the only one who could. My thanks. Tell Carey you did your job.”

Glo shrugged. “My job. I’m getting bored, child. You have some remedy in mind?”

“I think I do. I was about to address the crew. Have a seat.” Llant touched her panel. “Star: ship-wide voice and visual.” Llant shut her eyes, arranged her thoughts.

“We're nearly at Libra Secundus, and in one ship’s hour physical presence of all ship’s crew is required in the gymnasium.”

Glo resumed her shipboard form. “I’m scheduled for bridge duty, shall I ask Star to take control?”

“Please.”

“Remember, I love you too. You have been a good companion, if slightly demented by Vandoriian standards. Carey will be watching you closely. Come see me more often, talk to me. If you try to hide yourself away with this sorrow, it will bring grief to all of us.”

Llant watched Glo leave. _Glo, Wolfe, Morgan, Carey, Kern, Allallu, Poppy, Takworthy, Sheila, T'Prenda, Gwen . . ._ she was more than fortunate in her friends.

"Llant’Gornu."

She started. Star seldom addressed her verbally. She lay her palm on the console, felt the hard material soften, mold itself around her hand.

 _Star?_

 _You are an interesting symbiote, and have provided me with unique opportunities to gather data and observe the universe. It is a pleasure to travel with you. Libra Secundus is one planet I have wished to visit: shall we attempt to absorb their data-store? I may need to add to my storage abilities, and this will take some unusual raw materials. Can this be accomplished?_

 _If this is your wish, I will try and make it so._

 _May I more deeply interface with another member of your crew? The one called Sheila has an almost intuitive grasp of my basic functions, and is completely aware of all purely mechanical aspects of my being. She will best be able to assist me in growth. You will remain my primary personality, and she will have no authority to counter-influence you, or input directives._

 _If she agrees, I have no objection. These are choices you may make for yourself. And about those mechanical aspects -- why did you allow Kern to shut the holoroom down?_

 _I made a judgment call. You needed help._

 _And you’re only an artificial intelligence, right? Okay, I needed help. Thank you._

 _There is nothing artificial about my intelligence. My pleasure._

Llant felt the panel reform into rigidity. Sheila would be ecstatic. She had been trying to woo the H’russ since she first came aboard the Star.

Growth. It was time.

Star felt it, too. The data-store on Libra Secundus would provide any mention of reported habitable planets in borderspace, gathered by Federation starships, traders, research vessels. If they could find a suitable place, they could build a colony. Build homes. Raise families. These were goals they could use all their skills to accomplish. A shared purpose with an immensely valuable pay-off.

 _I hope he's well. I hope . . ._

Llant walked to the gym. They waited quietly, all her friends, her crew.

"I'd like to share my thoughts about building a new home," she said, "and I'd like to hear yours."

 

 _NEXT IN SERIES: COMRADES AND LOVERS: AFTER WRIGLEY'S_


End file.
